


The Sound of Birds that Sing at Night

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Bofur/Fili centric, Braiding Priviledges, But he knows his blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Fili is kind of a virgin when it comes to males, Half-assed Courting, Longings, M/M, More tags to be added, Ones, Oral Sex, Rimming, Skeletons in closets, Stubborn Dwarves, Twue Wuv, dark pasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 115,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili felt like he was being watched. He couldn’t figure out who it was though everyone at the table was stuffing their faces with the hobbits food they had pillaged from his pantry. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. </p><p>Bofur couldn't blame the prince for feeling paranoid. He wasn't exactly going about his interest in him in the best manner, but what was a miner supposed to do when a golden prince caught his eye? Saddle his pony, that's what. Good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This is my first story on this site, and in this fandom for that matter. Story is currently un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine. I'm writing this story in a vignette-style so the chapters may vary in length and setting. Mostly Bofur/Fili centric, so you're welcome to those few and far between shippers who ship this ship. Hah. I am happy to populate this tag more than you know.

Fíli felt like he was being watched. 

He couldn’t figure out who it was though everyone at the table was stuffing their faces with the hobbits food they had pillaged from his pantry. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he knew was in no real danger, not here. But still. 

He knew the dirge well. He would sometimes catch his uncle humming it to himself, and once he outwardly sang it while he worked the forge, years ago. It still sent shivers down Fíli’s spine. It reminded him too much of his uncle’s painful yearning and the sad look that would get into his mother’s eyes. Kíli didn’t much like it either, but he still hummed along to the dark melody. Fíli went to sleep that night on an old rug with a twisted feeling in his gut and his ears twitching. He hardly slept. 

“Look alive, brother. We’ll not be seeing the Shire again, I don’t think.” 

Kíli. Of course he would be admiring the vast green hills and the tall trees. His mind was always wandering. 

“Too far west and too full of hobbits. Not much here but crops, otherwise,” Kíli said quietly and didn’t say any more. 

Fíli lost his bet. Little Bilbo Baggins surprised them all by arriving at the last moment with the contract flapping about him like a flag. He paid his dues to the miner and toymaker, Bofur, who caught his pouch of spare coins with a smile and a wink. 

The days continued and the nights bore on and Fíli still felt eyes were on his back. Kíli didn’t suspect anything, nothing at all, and he continued like this quest was all but an adventure with his head in the clouds. Fíli knew that it was not an adventure. He knew what this meant, to his uncle, the company, his future, the whole of his people. Kíli didn’t seem to quite get it. Fíli knew this was the time he had to prove himself, and that was stressful enough. 

At the fire one night, after a filling supper, Bofur and Kíli flanked Bilbo and were telling the hobbit dwarfish tales and children’s stories with enthusiastic voices. Many listened on, a few with fond smiles, but Fíli was not one of them. He oiled his knives and sharpened his swords in stiff and aggravated movements, clenching his jaw. Sometimes he really wanted to smash some sense into brother’s empty, thick head. 

Kíli was talking admiringly about a particular dwarf hero of legend and myth who slew a goblin king in the north, his eyes wide and bright. Fíli ground his teeth just at his voice and glared at him and wished his own eyes could burn holes. Before he could say or do anything out of what he knew was irrational and misplaced anger, he threw his swords at his feet with a clamor and stalked off into the woods. And yet eyes still followed him, throwing him into a spiraling sour mood. 

It annoyed him, angered him even, that couldn’t escape the feeling of pressure, of being watched, like everything depended on everything and if one thing fell out of place this whole quest would be for naught. 

He found a stream and he gladly splashed the cool water on his face. He sat and smoked a pipe to gather his nerves. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to leave his swords and a handful of his best knives behind before traipsing off into the woods in a tantrum. Fíli sighed. Sometimes he was no better than Kíli, truthfully

Returning to camp a short while later, he found just about everyone asleep and snoring into their blankets, all but Bofur, who was set for watch. Fíli didn’t know him all that well, but he knew he was a toymaker and a miner, and when Fíli was younger, he remembered his toys. Bofur made him a lion and it was his favorite toy until Kíli broke one of the legs off as retribution for something or other. He glued it back on but it kept falling off and it was never the same. He went back to Bofur’s stall to buy another but found only Bifur, and his toys and wares and contraptions didn’t interest him as much as Kíli. He went back almost every day but Bofur was never there, and since then he hasn’t seen nor heard of the miner-toymaker for almost two and a half decades. 

Bofur still sat where he last saw him, and approaching the fire Fíli could see he was whittling something. Fíli sat down where his swords still lied, across the dying fire, and quietly finished oiling them. Bofur didn’t say a word, silently puffing on his pipe and flicking wood shavings into the fire where they blackened and burned. Neither said a word for a while, and it was comfortable. Once he was done Fíli slipped his blades into their respective sheaths with fluid assurance, finding a little bit of comfort in caring for his weapons.  
Bofur looked up from his carving, meant to be a horse but looking rather like a four legged beast than anything. He tossed it into the fire. “You don’t have to keep yourself up, lad,” Bofur said casually while packing another bowl of his pipe. “There’s nothing to fear in these woods. If you don’t count vicious tree rodents.” 

Fíli scoffed and smiled. “Tree rodents. I’m shaking in my boots.” 

“And right you should. If not for me, they’ll descend upon us and eat our eyes out and stuff our sockets with acorns,” Bofur spoke steadily and raised his brows as if he was entirely convinced, making Fíli chuckle despite his previous mood that fled like an old memory. 

“I suppose I should be thanking you for your valiant efforts,” Fíli commented when Bofur started puffing on his pipe, making them both laugh. 

“Ah, s’hard work. Gotta keep my eyes peeled somehow,” the toymaker replied nonchalantly with an easy smile around the bit in his mouth, curling his long mustache between his fingers. Fíli continued to smile, watching the embers pop in the bed of the fire and the flames lick the air in thin fingers. Bofur couldn’t take his eyes from him. 

“You should sleep. It’ll be an early morning, if I’ve learned anything about Thorin,” Bofur said slowly, allowing some of his own weariness to peer through his words. He truly didn’t want to be on first watch, but he supposed it was better than last, having to stay up an extra three hours or so than everyone else. He took his duties with stride. Especially since he was promised free beer. 

“If you learned anything about Thorin, you would know he practically sleeps with his eyes open. Kíli and I found him once when we were younger and we thought he was dead. He earned a good earful of it from it my mother for scaring the shite out of Kíli and me,” Fíli found himself laughing halfway between his story, remembering Kíli’s bawling and his shrill screaming; how Thorin didn’t wake until his mother threw water on him. 

Bofur laughed along, shaking his head. “That would be a sight to see.” 

“Aye, it was. And it still haunts me a little,” Fíli wrung his hands together and yawned. “But I suppose you’re right. Morning still comes though I do not wish it. I’m off to bed, then.” 

“More like a rock padded with a nice layer of dirt,” Bofur added jovially, getting a snort out of it from the prince. 

Fíli nodded, partaking in Bofur’s jest. “It will do at least until my back gives out.” 

Bofur scoffed. “Ach, you’re young yet, wait until the kinks in your back keep ye awake until the wee hours of morning.” 

Fíli stood with a tired smile and started walking towards his pack. “I hope not.” 

And with that, Bofur looked back toward the fire with a lopsided smile on his face. He felt strangely accomplished.


	2. You Are a Tourist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Are a Tourist - Death Cab for Cutie

Bofur still found himself waking up an hour or so before dawn like he would when he worked at the mines, out of habit he supposed. Then it struck him as a weird thought that he would never have to labor again if this quest went successfully (which he surely hoped so--furnace with wings). 

He rubbed his eyes and squinted up at the dark cloudy sky, a brighter spot down on the horizon where the sun would rise. He doubted it. He could almost smell the rain in the air. 

Bofur was the only one up as of yet. He went to make his water in the woods surrounding their makeshift camp, consisting of mostly enormous beech trees. When he returned to his pallet he sat down and plunked his hat on his head and shook Bombur. “You should wake up, brother. You need to make breakfast when everyone rouses.” 

His orange-headed lump of a brother mumbled and turned further away. “You make breakfast,” Bombur said through his beard, bunching up around his mouth. 

Bofur chuckled, pulling out his pipe and pouch of pipeweed. “Ah, you know I cannot do that. My breakfasts are not nearly as good as yours.” It was somewhat true; Bombur was the cook out of the two and had taken it up with much more value and skill than Bofur when their mother had taught them. She was a renowned cook in a popular tavern decades and decades ago. Bofur could cook fine without any mishaps, but Bombur liked doing it while he himself would rather be doing something else. Like watch. 

Bombur groaned and rolled himself onto his back and flung himself upwards, with a little struggle, to sit up. “Stuff it,” he muttered to him with a menacing sideways glance. Bofur only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Get the fire started, would you?” The rotund dwarf asked in a strained voice while pulling himself up to stand. “I need to make my water and gather a few flowers for Bifur, or some sorts of greenery.” 

“Aye,” Bofur said, nodding, while Bombur shuffled through snoring bodies into the surrounding trees. 

Bifur still slept on the other side of Bombur’s bedroll, a toy eagle mechanism still held loosely in his hand. He must have fallen asleep while he was working on it, Bofur guessed. He looked rather harmless while he slept though if Bofur tried to wake him he knew he would growl at him and attempt to clutch his neck like the badger he appeared to resemble (Bofur knew from experience). Bofur was the one who had come up with his nickname, in Iglishmêk signs. Bifur even ate plants like a badger, which was one of the stranger things his two cousins found out when he came out of his axe-induced coma. Besides being unable to speak Westron and take care of himself for awhile, he turned down Bombur’s meat stew, a favorite of his, after he was strengthened and was weaned from broth. So instead, he opted to eat the flowers out of the vase on the table.

Bofur puffed his pipe while he put the fire pit together and slowly the others started stirring awake. When he couldn’t find his stick of flint in his pack, Glòin tossed him his before venturing into the woods. Bombur returned with some nuts and stalks of a thick grass he knew Bifur would like, and once setting his cousin’s breakfast next to him, he started frying up some potatoes and onions with a few eggs he expertly packed away so they wouldn’t break, but the amount was little so he saved a few to be boiled later. 

Bofur liked to get things done while he could, so while Bombur cooked breakfast and the camp awoke, he packed up his few belongings and rolled up his pallet, taking his pack to where his pony was trussed up with the others. Bifur had woken in his commotion and followed suit with his cousin, munching on a bushel of honeysuckle (his favorite). Bofur was not very acclimated to ponies before his trip to the Shire from the Ered Luin, but Thorin and Dwalin had shown him how to saddle one and mount and steer and de-saddle, and basically everything else he needed to know. He was a miner and a part-time toymaker; he worked in the earth and mined and labored and had very little to do with ponies except for those who would pull around carts in the marketplace. 

Bofur was graced with a good pony, however, and was fond to know her name was Opal, after the patch of white on her forehead. He had mined opals before, when he was much younger, but it was nice to have a pony named after one. 

“Ah, good morning, good morning,” Bofur replied playfully to the ponies who huffed excitedly at him and his cousin when they approached. Fíli and Kíli were told last night when they made camp to look after the ponies, so their packs and rolls nearby, but the princes were a few yards away at the fire where the chatter was. “Did you have a good night’s rest? I hope so because it’ll be tough going today, I’m sure,” Bofur spoke to Opal, scratching her neck and stroking her head. 

Bifur spoke something in khuzdul, though Bofur couldn’t necessarily understand it, it caught his attention. He turned towards his cousin and saw him signing. «Why do you speak to them? Ponies—don’t understand». 

Bofur shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure they don’t mind a little conversation.” 

«I suppose. I think they are hungry», Bifur signed before finding the satchels of oats by Fíli and Kíli’s belongings. He tossed one to Bofur and together they fed the ponies, offering mindless chatter. Afterward, Bofur went to a nearby low-hanging branch where he had slung his saddle and blanket. Bifur was speaking in broken khuzdul and signing different things, both to him and the ponies, and Bofur could pick up a few words here and there. Once he was done saddling Opal, he left his pack nearby to fasten on when the Company was all ready to go, but while Bifur was finishing saddling his own pony (his talking to them slowed him down), Bofur found the saddle and blanket for Fíli’s pony. 

Bifur paused signing and speaking to his pony to watch him curiously, furrowing his brows. “What are you looking at?” Bofur asked, not unkindly, but he wouldn’t meet Bifur’s eyes. 

His cousin shrugged, looking almost amused. «Feeling kind?», he signed, a small smile peeking through his wild beard. 

Bofur huffed, looking affronted as he cinched the belt around the pony’s middle. “I’m always kind.”

«What about fat orange’s pony?» Bifur asked smugly, resting his elbows on the saddle on his pony’s back and looking mighty pleased with himself. Bofur knew Bifur referenced his brother as fat orange because of his hair and because he was, well, fat. It was difficult in Iglishmêk to sign out a person’s name by individual letter so attributes of a person was usually quicker to sign and understand. 

Bofur blushed. “He can saddle his own pony,” he turned away from him so his cousin couldn’t see his face so he couldn’t see him sign, signaling the end of his participation in the conversation though Bifur happily carried on. He still spoke, whether to Bofur or the ponies, or even about his thoughts on cloud formations, Bofur had a hard time guessing. Awhile later after everyone had eaten, Bifur did give him a sly look when Fíli looked rather confused about his pony being already saddled. Bofur acted quite oblivious about it and promptly ignored Bifur’s sniggering. 

Bofur was right about the rain, surprisingly. The sky poured buckets on them throughout the day and all through the night. The next day came and it was still pouring, and Dori finally spoke everyone elses’ thoughts and asked Gandalf to fix the deluge. Bofur was disappointed that there was nothing the old wizard could do because he would have liked to smoke his pipe. He also appreciated Bilbo’s sly humor about the wizard’s abilities and chuckled to himself about it. 

By the time the sun set (supposedly, since everyone had forgotten what the sun was), the rain dwindled into a drizzle and then stopped altogether after supper. Kíli started whooping in relief and then jumped into a puddle to intentionally splash his brother and Dwalin. The older warrior growled and made a mock lunge toward him which sent the youngest prince skittering off, and Fíli only managed to shout that he would get him back somehow. 

Bofur wanted to say something to the dripping and sullied blonde-haired prince, suggest a prank maybe, but he was distracted by the gold strands of hair that clung to his cheeks and he found himself tongue tied. Instead, he watched him groan and grumble and unsling his pack he kept on his shoulders and fluidly and toss it to the ground. He was just as irritated about everything like everyone else, even himself. Bofur sighed tiredly, watching Fíli remove his hood. 

He wondered if Fíli still had that lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear some feedback from you great people, you! Kudos are lovely, too, no worries.


	3. Heavy Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Feet - Local Natives
> 
> Bofur has some thoughts about this whole Fili thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that I'm naming chapter titles after songs that I particularly enjoy and whether they relate to the chapter in lyric meaning or how the music flows, it will vary. I've already put half my heart into this story, why not my favorite feely songs too?  
> And thank you everybody for the kudos and even just for reading!  
> Nori's knot tying is referenced from "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)" by greenkangaroo. It's a fabulous story focused on Nori and his sketchy thieving adventures--its really like one of the best. Go read it!

Fíli managed to find Nori alone, gathering firewood. 

He spun him around and grabbed the front of his tunic and jerkin in fist fulls and shoved Nori onto a tree trunk. The older dwarf hardly seemed surprised though he dropped all the kindling he had gathered and raised his hands with a slightly amused expression that annoyed Fíli and also sourced a little doubt. Fíli suspected he had knives all over his person, if Dwalin’s stories could be believed—and he certainly believed him, so he was prepare if this shady dwarf happened to pull one on him. 

“Are you hoping to steal from me?” Fíli snarled, his nose barely touching Nori’s. 

“Hoping? To steal from you?” Nori almost snorted at the absurdity. “Mahal, no, that would be too easy.” 

Fíli shook him for good measure. “I feel your eyes on my back, like you’re figuring something out. Planning something perhaps,” he clenched his fists a little tighter. 

This time, Nori outright laughed, erupting a coil of anger in Fíli’s gut. “I already have you all figured out, my dear prince. If I had stolen from you, you would have already found out by now and our guardsman would have my hands as per contract. And I very much like my hands.” 

Fíli growled and let Nori go, looking almost disappointed that he hadn’t caught Nori like he had hoped. He took a few steps away then turned back to the russet-haired dwarf with the peculiar hairstyle. “Don’t think about taking my things. Or Kíli’s.” 

Nori hid his smile behind his beard and bent down to pick up the dropped kindling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Later, before Fíli went to sleep, he checked what he owned and made positive he had everything. Pulling open his remaining pouch of coins and upending it, he found a golden knot among his coins and gems which wasn’t there before. He looked at the knot, squinted at it, turned it over in his hands and couldn’t figure out how or when it came to be there. Then he paused. 

_Nori, you bloody bastard_ , Fíli thought with a scowl. 

Then who was watching him? And setting up his pony damn near every morning? Kíli thought the whole deal was hilarious, suggesting that maybe someone had taken a fancy to him, though Fíli doubted that very much—but if so, who? Nobody had shown a particular interest in him in that sense. Bilbo worried after him sometimes but he couldn’t even saddle his own pony, and that was just Bilbo’s nature to just worry after people. 

Kíli snored next to him while he stared into the fire, twirling a knife between his fingers. Kíli was supposed to keep watch with him but he was exhausted from hunting and trapping rabbits with Dwalin all day so Fíli let him sleep. Everyone else was snoring dreamily away while Fíli kept himself awake, brooding and delving deeper into his thoughts. He smoked a pipe and after that was finished he smoked another. 

There was some rustling among the camp that Fíli didn’t give much attention to, someone getting up and walking into the words to make their water. He tilted his head up and looked at the stars and constellations only tree-shaggers would have names for, but he still found them beautiful. It looked like Varda had grabbed a handful of diamonds and scattered them like sand upon a black silk cloth. 

When he heard the dwarf coming back through the shrubs he glanced over and saw that it was Bofur, sleepily stepping over lumps without his hat on. He saw that Fíli was looking at him and as he made his way over to find a spot in front of the little fire, Fíli went back trying to find his answers in the flames. It was unlikely he would ever figure out his problem because he was quickly discovering he knew nothing about everything. 

Bofur sat down crosslegged on the other side of the fire from him and he quietly joined him in smoking a pipe. Fíli could feel his eyes on him, which shouldn’t be anything new to him since he felt his neck hairs stand on end every day since Bag End, but now he knew it was Bofur looking at him. He glanced up at him with an irritated look in his eyes but Bofur was entirely oblivious to it, and instead raised his brows as if he could care less. 

“I can almost hear you brood from over here, lad,” Bofur said in a low voice so as to not wake the others, tilting his head a bit. 

Fíli knitted his brows, tugging on one of his mustache braids. “I’m not brooding.” 

“Oh, nothing wrong with it, we all do so while on watch, I’ll tell you myself. I’m just curious as to what is troubling you so much you’re looking into the fire as if you’re expecting it to speak,” he replied calmly, blowing out smoke in a thick cloud that gathered in his lap. 

Fíli rubbed his brow, stifling a yawn. He swallowed, considering telling him his problem just because he almost didn’t care anymore. It was late. He wanted to sleep and forget until tomorrow but his watch wasn’t over yet and Bofur was talking to him freely, which was strangely and awfully nice at the moment. Fíli sighed. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone. Not even Bifur, for however much anyone can understand him. You can’t tell him.” 

“I swear it by Mahal’s hammer and my mattock,” Bofur raised a free hand like he was taking an oath, a smile playing around his lips. 

“Alright,” Fíli rolled the stem of his pipe slowly between his fingers, stitching the words together in his head. “I think someone’s watching me,” he said quietly, almost so low Bofur wouldn’t have heard if a gust of wind had happened to pass by, but the woods were silent. 

Bofur nodded in consideration, trying to avoid chuckling to prevent bruising Fíli’s dignity. “Watching you? Like how do you mean?” 

Fíli grew suddenly embarrassed and defensive and wished he had never uttered a word of it, but Bofur’s concerned and open, kind face prompted him to answer. “Like, I mean watching me. I don’t know. I just feel eyes on my back sometimes,” Bofur hummed but it sounded like a laugh to Fíli so he covered his face with his hand. “Gods, you think I’m insane, don’t you?” 

“A little. Maybe more paranoid than insane,” then, he asked cautiously, “Who do you think it could be? Or what?”

Fíli shrugged helplessly, trying to ignore the heat of his cheeks. “I have literally not one idea. And then, on top of it, my pony is saddled every morning when I go to her and it’s maddening,” he brought his hands to his head and waved them about to enunciate his confusion. He took a long and heavy drag from his pipe after a sigh and scrubbed his chin. “Nothing makes sense.” 

Bofur considered all what Fíli said. He couldn’t blame the prince for feeling paranoid because Bofur wasn’t exactly going about his interest in him in the best manner. He was just so nervous to even be around him and he treasured every moment he could steal away with him, like now. And he was just so utterly captivated by Fíli and his golden hair and his stupid cocky smile that pulled his cheeks into sweet dimples—Bofur couldn’t make sense of anything either, especially this weird feeling in his gut. It felt different now than it did years and years ago, before… well. 

Bofur wanted to tell him, ‘It’s me, it’s me! It’s me, you great stupid lout! _Me_ ’. But he couldn’t. His mouth went dry and the smoke felt like slivers scratching down his throat. 

“Aye,” Bofur managed to choke out. 

Fíli was desperate to change the subject. “What do you think will happen? The quest, I mean, of the dragon,” he sputtered out after a pause, his eyes impossibly blue and grey in the firelight. 

Bofur pursed his lips, grateful for the respite from his thoughts. “I don’t know. I can’t say now. I do know that it will be the most trying thing any of us will do in our lifetimes. We may die tomorrow, or die upon Erebor’s very doorstep. None of us know,” he spoke evenly and honestly, and when he was done he curled his mustache between his fingers. “But, I do think we’ll do alright, for the most part. We’re few and sparse, but yet I don’t doubt what we can accomplish. At least that’s what I hope.” 

Fíli nodded absentmindedly, watching the fire pop and the embers float into the smoky air. He caught Bofur’s eye and would have quickly averted his gaze if the toymaker wasn’t looking at him so blatantly, his eyes flicking over his face. For the oddest reason, Fíli felt realized he started to blush. He noticed how different Bofur looked without his hat on, a little more his age (older than him, maybe only a few decades, not much, not young but not old), and he actually had clumps of hair that swept across his forehead into his eyes, dark like stained wood. 

He felt foolish and so he looked away back to the fire. He had stared back too long, took too much liberty. But Bofur stared back, too. 

“Are you always so optimistic?” Fíli asked quietly, turning over his pipe and tapping out the ash on the ground. He looked over at Kíli next to him and saw his face mushed into one of his softer packs, a wet spot of drool on the canvas. 

Bofur laughed a little, weak though it was. “I’m good at it, but no, not always. I can be pessimistic too but I leave that up to my brother. Somebody needs to stay hopeful,” he sighed, running a hand over his hair and through his bangs, offering a tired smile. _I am so utterly undeserving of you. I will never ask for the time of day and nor will I expect one. Sometimes I wake up and wonder how lovely it would be to not exist, to forget everything. I could never explain to you the depths of my sorrow, young prince. You’ll know I am not so optimistic in my head_. 

“I’m just wondering where in Durin’s name is the free beer I was promised,” Bofur added, making a smile jump to Fíli’s face and he felt a little better, though a dark cloud had suddenly shadowed him. 

“I could say the same. I could go for a nice ale about now.” 

“It seems we should take the matter up with Thorin. Ransom him for free beer and ale. It’ll help him get that stick out of his arse,” Bofur finished in a low voice so only those within the circle of the fire could hear, and the leader of their Company was not one of them. 

Fíli’s eyes widened but he laughed as quietly as he could. “You’re right about that. You know, thinking about it, I’ve ever actually seen my uncle drunk. How sad and tragic is that?” Fíli scrunched up his face like he couldn’t comprehend the idea of it. 

“Entirely tragic. Completely dreadful. He’s really missing out,” Bofur agreed, puffing a few rings into the air without much thought. 

“About what you said about the stick up his arse, you are so right about that. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years but now I get it. My uncle has the hugest stick up his arse,” the eldest prince rambled like he was coming to a revelation. “Sometimes when he opens his mouth wide enough I can see it,” he added with a snigger. 

Bofur smiled and chuckled though his thoughts were entirely elsewhere. Watching the golden-haired prince talk marveled him senseless, but also reminded him of his shortcomings and a hundred reasons why he was an old fool and an unworthy one at that. He knew his station and he knew Fíli’s damn well, and that was where it ended. There was never even a beginning to start with. 

“Who’s next for watch?” Bofur asked before Fíli could speak even though he had his mouth open. 

He had to rethink what he was going to say. “I was going to wake Dwalin to get back at him.” 

Bofur smiled tightly, not really feeling it. “Good idea. Well, it’s late and I’m not getting any younger. I’m off to… off to sleep, then,” he finished awkwardly, pulling himself up to stand. 

If it was any other moment but now he would have been pleased Fíli looked so deflated, but he wasn’t. He felt even worse. “Right.” 

Bofur nodded at him before turning away. The night air upon his face was cool while the fire to his back was pleasantly warm. He felt a little guilty for lying for he knew he would get no sleep tonight with this sinking feeling in his gut that drew him closer to a pit he knew very well.


	4. Yet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet Again - Grizzly Bear
> 
> Bilbo, Fili and Kili have a nice hang out sesh and Bofur gets a little intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg how does one write a decent chapter summary, hahaha. Anyway, thank you everybody for stopping to give kudos! I really appreciate it! And now for some feedback... hopefully? That would be lovely. But I hope you like this chapter, thanks for reading! 
> 
> Still currently unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

Nori appeared next to him a little while after they set off. Bofur glanced sideways at his old friend and he was grateful he didn’t immediately start bombarding him with his pointless talk that usually meant he wanted something out of him. Bofur was not in the mood to deflect Nori’s incessant questions. He had indeed slept terribly the night before and had only managed to snatch a few hours of rest after smoking another pipe. 

“You’re looking rather downtrodden today,” Nori observed, looking at Bofur with barely any hints of real concern. He looked tired himself.

“Aye. My clothes are still wet from two days ago,” Bofur answered, half-heartedly believing his lie. 

Nori nodded, considering his answer. “Now, that may be true, but why don’t I believe that’s all that’s bothering you?” Nori lowered his voice, looking straight ahead. Bofur shut his eyes tight and held a little tighter on the reins. He didn’t answer. “Oh, I also forgot to mention—our eldest Durin prince seems to think I’m going to steal from him. He says he feels eyes on him. Why could that be?” 

Bofur rubbed his temple, trying to keep a hold of his temper. “I am _not_ of a mind to listen to your schemes, Nori, not today,” he kicked his pony gently to hurry along and leave Nori behind, but the thieving dwarf was having none of it. 

Nori caught up with him, much to Bofur’s irritation. “Schemes? If it’s anyone who’s scheming, it’s you, you thick headed oaf,” he spoke in a hiss. “I’ve known you for far too long to not see that look on your face. The way you looked at Halla.” 

The look Bofur gave Nori then would have made even Dwalin cower, and the thief nearly did, too late for him to realize his mistake. Bofur took Nori’s forearm and held tightly, maybe hard enough to bruise. “Do not tread that path with me, Nori. You know nothing about it. It is nothing like it was with Halla,” he spoke through clenched teeth and his eyes shot swords into Nori's own. He released his arm and went to gallop ahead. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Nori called after him, this time staying behind. Bofur turned in his saddle and gave him a rather rude gesture that only made Nori laugh in disbelief. He rubbed his arm and winced. 

\--

The next few days Fíli found his pony unsaddled. He was mostly relieved, still profoundly confused, and yet a little disappointed. He wouldn’t ever tell Kíli that he was somewhat disheartened because he sort of, in a sense, believed sometime did have a liking for him (whoever it may have been). 

They stopped for lunch and a quick rest since Thorin had everyone up a few hours before dawn to save time. Fíli and Kíli found a nice patch of grass to lie on, sprawled out and letting the sun warm their skin. Everyone else opted for a short cat nap as well while Bombur put a quick lunch together. 

Fíli laid in the grass thinking about nothing in particular with Kíli doing much the same half an arm’s length away from him. “Do you still feel anxious?” Kíli asked quietly after what felt like a long while, unmoving, his hands folded on his stomach. 

Fíli looked over at him with a quizzical look on his face. “What? Anxious?” 

Kíli snorted and smiled. “Don’t even pretend like I don’t know. You’ve been checking your pack every night and looking over your shoulder constantly like something’s about to pounce on you. You’ve been anxious about something and I’m just asking if you still feel that way,” he never opened his eyes, smiling through his voice as a light breeze ran through his brown hair. He seemed utterly unperturbed by his question and oblivious to Fíli’s surprise. 

He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, Fíli thought, for he knew Kíli to be observant and exceedingly nosey, but he knew more than he let on. Fíli looked back up at the sky and clouds and thought about it. 

“Not as much anymore. I still think Nori’s trying to steal from me,” Fíli replied simply, only to cause Kíli to stark chuckling. Fíli started laughing at the silliness of it, too. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I don’t know what else it could be. Or who else. Literally no one comes to mind.” 

Kíli shrugged. “I can keep a look out for you.” 

“You don’t have to do that. It’s not that serious.” 

“Well, it seems to be bothering you. I like to help out whenever I can.” 

Fíli outright guffawed. “You, helping? Right! You cause more trouble than help, little brother.” 

Kíli reached out with his leg to kick his shin. “I do! I really would like to help your situation since you seem utterly clueless,” he propped himself up on his elbow to look at Fíli. “Totally clueless. Entirely at a loss.” 

“Alright! Fine, keep a ‘look out’, or whatever you’d call it. But don’t go crawling through trees, you hear me? And by Mahal, don’t tell Uncle.” 

Kíli snorted. “Of course not. He’d smash our heads together and tell us to do something useful. Ugh,” he laid back down while he rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t tell your uncle what?” 

Both Durin princes looked behind them with wide eyes until they saw it was only Bilbo, standing just a foot behind them with his arms crossed behind his back and a smile on his face. 

“Oh, it’s only you, Mister Baggins! You gave us quite a fright!” Kíli said cheerfully, relieved it wasn’t Dwalin, who would have surely hung them up by their toes to find out what they were keeping. 

Bilbo sat down and crossed his legs, sighing. “How long have we been traveling together, boys? And how many times have I asked you call me Bilbo? My name, you do remember?” he pulled out his pipe and stuffed it with pipeweed, lighting it up for a good smoke. 

“It’s been almost a month,” Fíli replied, turning on his side and holding his chin up by his hand with his elbow in the grass.

“And you’ve asked us seventeen times,” Kíli added with a cheeky smile, coming up to sit. 

Bilbo raised his brows but didn’t seem at all bothered by their responses. “Seventeen? My, that many? Well, at least I’m not Mister Boggins anymore, I suppose,” he laughed when Kíli blushed a little. 

“Kíli has trouble hearing the important bits,” Fíli added with a smirk, earning a sour glance from his brother. Bilbo passed him his pipe with an accompanying scolding look. 

“Don’t be unkind to your brother,” Bilbo reprimanded with half the effort he certainly could have used. 

“But he’s my brother,” Fíli said as if it was the only answer, innocently enough. 

“Who else am I going to shove around? Annoy the shite out of?”Kíli answered as well, and Bilbo almost grimaced at his choice of words but Kíli hardly seemed to notice. 

“You do that well enough without even trying,” Fíli said after blowing a lungful of smoke into Kíli’s face. 

“I’m good at it,” Kíli took the pipe from Fíli’s hand and looked rather smug. 

“Right you are,” Bilbo said with a smile, surprising both princes with his remark. 

“You’re not supposed to talk like that, Mr. Bilbo,” Fíli said in mock surprise, making the hobbit chuckle. 

“I’m only agreeing with his statement,” he replied regally enough, squaring his shoulders a little. 

“I might go off and cry for my hurt feelings,” Kíli said with a sulky look but his playful eyes spoke otherwise.

Bilbo clicked his tongue. “Oh, now, you must know I’m only teasing,” he said kindly and with a certain lighthearted softness only he could possess, something the boys always noticed and admired. “It’s a good day.” 

Fíli sighed and nodded a little. He looked past Bilbo back to the center of camp only a few paces away, and saw a familiar back with a certain hat turn away. Suddenly he didn’t feel his goose prickles.


	5. Opus 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opus 36 - Dustin O'Halloran
> 
> Fili talks with Bifur in Iglishmek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody takes the time to listen to the music of the song titles or even look up the lyrics, let me know! I want to hear feedback from you people! I'm five chapters in and yet I feel I'm writing to an empty audience. Thank you for leaving kudos, though! I dig it a lot.   
> One of the shorter chapters.

“What? I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, Bifur. Bombur, do you?” 

“Not a clue.” 

Bifur groaned and shook his head wildly, shouting in khuzdul and continuing to sign pleadingly. 

“He’s trying to tell you what kind of bird that was.” 

Bofur, Bombur and Bifur all turned to the voice at once. Fíli looked like he had been caught in the midst of a wrongful act and he suddenly became nervous under all three Broadbeam gazes.

“I-It was a robin. That’s what he’s trying to say. In… in Iglishmêk,” Fíli rocked on his feet, holding his saddle and blanket awkwardly under one arm, caught in the middle of putting them away. 

“You understood that?” Bofur finally asked after a pause, the first of the three to speak. 

“Yes, quite a bit of it, actually. I learned from Balin, and then in the forges. But, I read about how it could actually be a language outside of the forge. I still have trouble with ancient khuzdul, though,” Fíli replied simply, feeling much like a child admitting something secretive. 

“Oh!” Bofur laughed, a bright smile jumping to his face. “Well that’s a relief!” he clapped his brother on the back and bent to unbuckle his saddle. 

Fíli looked to Bifur finally and he could almost make out a sort of smile through his salt and pepper beard. «Thank you, young prince», the old dwarf signed gratefully. 

«You are welcome. Maybe red-bellied bird would be more helpful», Fíli replied, a little awkwardly from the saddle and blanket and from recalling from memory. He knew he got some of the signs wrong but Bifur still understood him. 

Bifur chuckled. «Aye, instead of russet-winged thing. Aye». 

Fíli smiled and went to find a spot to hang his riding things. 

Bifur came over to where he and Kíli sat next to the fire with a bushel of flowers a short while later and he promptly sat down and started munching on them. He offered some to the princes but they politely declined. 

«They’re good, I promise. These purple and white ones are my favorites», Bifur signed to them cheerfully, oblivious to Kíli’s strange glance to his brother. Fíli ignored him but he had to be honest that he wasn’t expecting Bifur to make conversation with him.

«Why do you eat flowers?» Fíli asked, taking one stem of honeysuckle and smelling it before shoving it under Kíli’s nose. 

«Because I like them. Why do you eat meat? Because you like it. I do not. It is the same thing», Bifur shrugged and chuckled a little when Kíli sneezed obnoxiously several times. 

«What do your brothers call you?», Fíli signed easily while his brother watched with an odd fascination, mumbling to himself about what they were actually saying since Kíli hadn’t studied the language like Fíli had. 

«They call me a badger. I suppose it fits» Bifur replied with a wink. Fíli noticed he looked far more cheerful than he had ever seen him so far on this journey. Perhaps being able to hold conversation with someone properly lifted his mood. «And you?», he asked with half a stem hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

«Nothing yet. Only young prince so far», Fíli answered. 

«It will come to me in time, when I figure out what to call you. Your brother, he is more like a beardless child», Bifur signed almost faster than Fíli could comprehend, but he started laughing when he understood. 

«Aye, he has been called that many times», he replied with a sly sideways glance to Kíli. 

Kíli noticed the two of them look at him with humor and laughing about whatever it was they said. “What? Are you talking about me right in front of me? That’s awfully rude!” Kíli complained, crossing his arms. 

«Beardless child indeed», Fíli added, much to Bifur’s amusement. 

The badger dwarf with the wizened hair stayed with Fíli for awhile to talk to him, eating his gathered flowers and leaves, and all the while told the princeling a few stories of mishaps in pubs with his Iglishmêk signs and fights he’d been in. Fíli enjoyed his company more than he thought he would and he discovered how lively and amusing Bifur could be. He knew the toymaker by his appearance since he was young and had always thought him to look a little frightening and maybe bitter towards children. When he talked about his stall he shared with his cousin for a short time, it was clear that he adored children, just that he was cautious around them because he didn’t want to scare them off by the axe in his head. He even made jokes about the axe, saying he could now predict the weather with it.

He wouldn’t go on as to how he got the axe, exactly, but Fíli halfway knew the story anyway and didn’t ask him about it. They talked with each other halfway through supper until Bifur and Glòin were nominated by Thorin to clean up. The badger dwarf took Fíli and Kíli’s bowls kindly and went to gather the others with a certain bounce to his step. Once he had laid out his pallet and settled down, Fíli soon fell asleep listening to Balin and Bofur jointly tell a great war story ballad that everyone was told when they were children, and Bilbo listened intently to the tale. 

The last part Fíli remembered listening to was the part about the lowly smith falling in love with the warlord’s prestigious son, a general, for whom he had wrought a golden breastplate with all the care and beauty in the world. The smith was greatly praised for his work and he was rewarded with a hammer created with Mahal’s blessing, and the smith and the general were subsequently engaged. Bofur’s storytelling and colorful words, expressed with such skill only someone accustomed to bringing words to life could possess, resonated with Fíli even as he fell asleep.


	6. The Longer I Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Longer I Run - Peter Bradley Adams (Okay this song really fits this chapter omg)
> 
> Bilbo helps find some flowers for Bifur with Bofur, and Bombur is a little suspicious of his older brother.

Bofur started saddling Fíli’s pony again and he was absolutely delighted by the way the prince’s face lit up the first morning. He ignored Nori’s teasing glance and instead punched him in the shoulder. 

A day later, they came upon a falling house in the Trollshaws late in the day and Thorin called out that they would make camp (not a place Bofur was entirely inclined to stay). He and Gandalf had words in the abandoned house and the wizard ended up leaving them to seek the solitude of his own senses. Bofur thought that was rather unkind of him but he shrugged and thought no further about it. Wizards would be wizards. 

He could hear Thorin from the house where he was down the hill a little. “Fíli, Kíli—look after the ponies, and make sure you stay with them. Òin, Glòin, get a fire going. Bombur, we’re hungry.” 

Bofur stood aimlessly stroking Opal’s white blaze, watching the others amble about. He saw Bilbo was looking a little anxious, twisting his fingers together while watching the wizard trot off on his own pony. “Don’t worry about him, Mister Bilbo. I’m sure he’ll return soon,” Bofur spoke reassuringly to him but the little hobbit was not swayed much. 

“It’s just that he’s… never left us before,” Bilbo replied steadily enough, smoothing down his waistcoat out of habit. 

Bofur chuckled, tilting his head slightly in agreement. “Aye, but if you’re worried about orc attacks, we’ll be able to protect ye just fine, but I can’t guarantee that if you get hurt we’ll be able to bring you back without the wizard here to patch you up. Good old Òin is still old and he might not hear your wee protests when he stitches you up,” he said cheerily enough, de-saddling his pony and removing his belongings with a bright smile on his face. He took Bilbo’s blank face as a good sign. 

The hobbit furrowed his brows for a moment and then he started chuckling. “For how optimistic you are, Bofur, you are terrible at conveying your reassurances,” Bilbo took his lead and started removing the various things attached to his saddle, starting with the big black kettle so Bombur could use it for supper. 

Bofur guffawed, humored by the hobbit’s honesty. “I just try to tell the truth for what it is, I am an honest dwarf to the core,” he made a show of sweeping off his hat and holding it to his chest and bowing his head. Bilbo shook his head with a small grin. 

Once Bofur was done removing his saddle, he handed the reins to Fíli so he could lead Opal to where the two brothers had found a clearing with a crumbling but safe stable. He faintly noticed how his fingers skimmed the creases of his palm and how his heart seemed to shudder at the briefest contact, and then when Fíli gently smiled at him Bofur thought his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach. He watched the prince walk away with his pony next to him and he absently took note of how firm and fine his backside looked. 

Bofur went to go find some things for Bifur to eat and Bilbo went with him to keep him company and to get away from Thorin’s glares. “I just don’t understand what his problem with me is exactly. I suppose I am everything he is not, and—oh, Bofur, that’s not a good plant for Bifur to eat, silly. It’ll give him indigestion,” Bilbo said and took the leafy plant from him and threw it as far as he could, which surprised Bofur since he hadn’t been paying a whole lot of attention to what he was saying before. 

Bofur registered what Bilbo had remarked and furrowed his brows. “Well, that would explain a lot.” 

Bilbo didn’t seem to hear him. “Here, give him some dandelions, and here’s some plantain,” he said while crouching on his heels, pulling the plants by the base of the stem deftly and handing them behind his back to Bofur. “Would Bifur eat mint?”

The miner looked at him in confusion for a moment before shrugging. Bilbo plucked a few leaves before he could answer and stood up to brush off his trousers. “He eats flowers as well, does he not?” 

“Aye. Most kinds.” 

“Good,” Bilbo then weaved through some tall grasses (tall for a hobbit) and other perennials before stopping at a patch of little white and yellow flowers. “These actually have some benefits, especially for headaches, which I see he suffers from often.” 

“Aye,” Bofur said softly, coming up behind the hobbit while he pulled at some of the flowers and collected them into a small bushel. 

“Feverfew will help with that,” Bilbo said more to the flowers than to him. Bofur realized he did not want to be in the way of a hobbit when they were on a mission, telling by the way Bilbo seemed so intent to collect the flowers. He held a few bushels for Bilbo while he collected a few more types of flowers to vary Bifur’s supper, remembering how he had talked about gardening and growing things and how the look on his face gave away his longing for such things, so he didn’t apologize to Bilbo for bringing him along only to collect flowers for him. The task would have been a menial and tedious one for Bofur since he didn’t care much for flowers (though he did find them particularly pretty at times). He was glad Bilbo could find a little bit of joy in this, and that he helped bring it on especially since the hobbit was a poor target for their leader’s insults though he was entirely undeserving of them. 

Bilbo continued for roughly ten minutes plucking various berries and leaves and telling Bofur their benefits though he halfway knew he wouldn’t remember them before their arms were full and they had to return to camp. Bifur was sitting close to the fire tinkering with Bombur nearby making the stew, and when both Bilbo and Bofur arrived with their arms full of different greenery, the badger dwarf’s face lit up. He started rambling in the old tongue excitedly, setting aside his mechanical eagle to run his fingers admiringly over the colorful plants, berries, leaves and flowers. 

“He’s saying thank you,” Bofur translated with a warm smile, resting his elbows on his knees when he sat down on a log. 

Bilbo looked rather humble when he inclined his head, and Bofur couldn’t imagine why Thorin could insult such an attractive little thing. “It’s nothing, really, I enjoyed doing so,” he smiled and refused some of the black berries Bifur offered him. He stuck by the three of them for awhile before drifting off to his belongings and his own company. 

A while later, Fíli and Kíli ran out of the tree line, the older chasing the younger to tackle him and to rub his cheek in the dirt. Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Glòin were holding a small council when the two youngest Durins came scrambling out and causing noises hollering and laughing. Thorin stood and started walking towards where they were wrestling. “What did I tell you about staying with the ponies?” 

As soon as his voice reached the two of them, Fíli and Kíli broke apart and shuffled to their feet. “To stay with them,” Fíli replied first with as much dignity as he could muster at the moment, which wasn’t much because he knew what a right fool he looked to his uncle with grass in his beard. 

“Aye. Now go and do just that before you two require a sitter to fulfill your assigned duties,” Thorin commanded with ease, his voice hard and unyielding. The way the two boys then bolted into the forest like spurned dogs was rather humorous to Bofur, especially when Fíli managed to trip Kíli in the process. He dodged back into the brush with a mischievous smile and a laugh that gave Bofur pause. 

_No. You can’t. He’s a prince for Mahal’s sake_. He found a stump near to the fire where Bombur was tending to the stew. The wood in the crumbling house was old and dirty and mostly rotted but Bofur found a nice piece that he could whittle. He pulled it out of his pocket along with his small knife he has kept with him for fifty-odd years and started carving out slivers without much thought to it. His mind was elsewhere. _That gold hair. You don’t just see that every day_. He then remembered how Fíli had moved his hair over his shoulder the other day, a thick sheet of waving golden hair. Bofur nearly shuddered. 

Bombur saw the little smile on his older brother’s face while he stirred the pot, and he narrowed his eyes to decipher its meaning. “You’ve been up to something, haven’t ya?” Bombur intoned quietly, stroking his orange mustache absentmindedly with his free hand. 

“Hm?” Bofur hummed, hardly giving him a glance. “Up to something, didja say? Me? Noo, you’ve got it wrong,” he still smiled still but now with that twinkle in his eye Bombur knew well, and his charismatic answer did nothing to sway him. 

“Bifur told me you’ve been setting up his saddle, watching him wherever he goes. Not something, you say?” Bombur raised his brow at him. Bofur knew that look. His, ‘I don’t believe a word you’re saying and I can see right through you’ look, which he had given Bofur often in the last two decades or so. The miner guffawed. 

“It’s a courtesy, Bombur. He’s a prince,” Bofur almost started laughing at the ridiculousness of his answer, and he knew Bombur knew it wasn’t true. “Okay, fine. What advice are you going to bestow upon me this time? Advice, which I probably won’t listen to the first five times, at least until I finally realize my atrocities and that you were right from the beginning?” Bofur spoke jovially and not unkindly, only telling the truth they both knew. 

Bombur smiled indulgently but it quickly fell away. “No, not advice. Not really. I just don’t think you should… pursue,” he leaned in close to whisper after looking around them for eavesdropping ears. 

Bofur raised his brows and laughed. “Pursue? I never said anything ‘bout pursuing anyone. Pursue. Bah,” he waved his hand to dismiss the thought, continuing to carve and hoping Bombur couldn’t see his blush. 

Bombur nodded in acceptance though he wasn’t sure about it. He knew Bofur didn’t always follow his own words. “Good. He’s a young lad, and a prince at that. And you’re… well…,” 

“A miner. Far underneath his get. I know,” Bofur finished, his voice quiet and just a little upset, only masking what he truly thought. “And a toymaker.” 

Bombur watched his brother for a moment, waiting for anything else left to say, but when nothing was said he continued stirring the stew silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think!


	7. It All Began With a Burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It All Began With a Burst - Kishi Bashi
> 
> Kili drags Fili up a tree and they discover some things.

“Fíli!” A harsh whisper. “Fíli! Wake up, you lout!”

It was Kíli. Of course it was. 

He shook Fíli’s shoulder violently, even going so far as to gently slap the muscles of his arm and his stubbly cheek. Fíli growled and rolled over to tackle his annoying brother but he was already away from him. “What?” Fíli snarled, squinting at the silver light that burned his sleepy eyes, searching for the darkness of his brother. 

“C’mon, get up Fee! We need to see who sets up your saddle before anyone’s awake,” Kíli said in a low voice, throwing Fíli’s coat at him and making motions for him to hurry. He walked a few paces away, as quiet as a stag, and looked around impatiently while Fíli put his arms in his coat with a sour look. They snuck away to where the ponies were grouped, only about a dozen paces away from the center congregation of their camp. Dwalin and Balin were told last night to keep a look out for them, so they were situated closest to the ponies so the two Durin princes had to be extra quiet. They knew how lightly Dwalin slept and how grumpy he was when awoken. 

Kíli then picked a tree close by and started climbing up it like a squirrel. Fíli’s mouth gaped and he rolled his eyes but he wouldn’t say anything yet since he also knew how the old royal advisor could hear a pin fall in a room full of people, especially if he or Kíli dropped it (an annoying trait for the dwarf’s age; why couldn’t he be half deaf like Òin?). The two sons of Fundin took their roles as unofficial princeling protectors quite seriously much to Fíli’s ire because he was of age, damn it. But in any case, he climbed up the tree after his brother like they had done so many times while hunting and in their childhood and he had got quite good at it. 

Kíli had got high up in the tree by the time Fíli found a thick enough branch for him that allowed a good view of the ponies, with his near to center. He made himself comfortable a few branches below Kíli, finding the right spot to sit for awhile. “What did I say about climbing trees in regards to this… thing?” Fíli asked quietly, a little irritated and still tired. 

“What thing?” Kíli asked back, and Fíli could hear the smugness in his voice. 

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play that with me, you dolt,” Fíli retorted, glaring upwards at Kíli who was smirking.

“You went along with it, didn’t you? You’re up in this tree as much as I am. And don’t pretend like you haven’t been dying to know. I just decided to do something about it before you broke and took to asking everyone in the Company who in Durin’s name is setting up your pony and making a fool of yourself.” 

Fíli went to smack his boot before he thought about it and ended up hurting his hand more than Kíli’s protected foot. He pretended like his stinging hand didn’t hurt. 

He knew Kíli had the right of it. He did want to know and whoever was doing this favor for him on a near daily basis. But a part of him didn’t want to know. What if it was Òin or Glòin? How weird would that be? He didn’t know what this person’s intentions were, so he thought that maybe they were only being kind, or trying to woo him into courting or something just as ridiculous, however he had seen no other advances from anyone. He also concluded that whoever was doing this was also the one who was glaring at him. It had to be. Nobody in particular had come to mind, everybody was generally nice to him or at least tolerant. It was endlessly frustrating, 

Kíli brought a few pieces of waybread and a skin of water that he shared with Fíli, and after that he filled his pipe with the sweet and woody pipeweed he preferred and shared that with him too. They didn’t talk for awhile, listening to the morning birds just beginning to wake and sing with the sun rising behind the canopy of leaves. Soon enough they could hear Dwalin grumbling something and an answer from Balin, then they disappeared. Voices were starting to be heard from camp and then some were coming closer. Bifur and Bofur came into Fíli’s line of sight between limbs of the tree. 

Kíli chuckled. “It’s totally Bifur, Fee, it’s him,” he teased, laughing quietly and completely unaware to Fíli’s revelation. His hands were sweaty upon the bark of the tree and his ears were unmistakably hot. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Bifur. It makes you look uncomely. Not that you were comely in the first place,” Bofur said, his voice barely loud enough for Fíli to hear. He forgot about what was happening for a minute and laughed to himself at Bofur’s comment. 

Bifur waved his hands at Bofur like he was saying ‘Bah!’ «I know who you think is comely, cousin». 

“I actually know what he said,” Kíli whispered excitedly and Fíli hurriedly hushed him before their words were muffled. 

“That is none of your business. Yes, I do think some male dwarrows are comely despite my history. I know who you think is comely, you old badger, and I’ll be more than happy to reveal that to him if you keep badgering me about my preferences and decisions,” Bofur replied with a laugh behind his voice, kind and warm and not at all threatening or insulting. Fíli wondered how he could be so charismatic and friendly no matter whom he talked to, and he wondered about his preferences and history, and how well he could put that mattock to use. He seemed like he was too caring to hurt another being, regardless of race, then he thought about how much he would like to see him use it. He imagined he would fiercer than any dwarf. 

«Well, get on with it! Since you are not going to tell him anything because your head is so far up your arse you cannot tell up from down, you might as well do a good job cinching the saddle», Bifur signed with animation though he was ruffling his head like he was about to tackle Bofur and knock some sense into him. Bofur only paused and laughed. 

“That is probably the most you’ve said in one go in a long time. And if I didn’t know you any better, I’d think that the red look to your cheeks means you’re blushing,” Bofur remarked teasingly and he dodged the stick that Bofur ripped off a branch to throw at him, making a few of the ponies whinny in surprise. 

«Shut your mouth, you git». 

“For that, I might tell him about your fancy once I hunt him down once he gets to Erebor.” And with that, Bifur tackled his cousin into a laughing pile where they wrestled in good heart for a few minutes before the ponies would be scared off. Bofur went back to setting up Fíli’s pony first before getting to his own. 

Fíli couldn’t understand. Why was he doing it? For what reasons? What did he mean? He didn’t know any of the answers and it made it more maddening. Of course it was him, he thought with spectacular hindsight. He was always throwing him smiles that made him feel too important and always giving him the first stew bowl and the warmest piece of waybread. When he played his flute some nights, sometimes he would look at him with particularly piercing eyes across the fire. 

Thinking about it a little more while Kíli was rambling nonsense above him, Fíli didn’t mind it much at all. He thought he would be embarrassed or upset, but he wasn’t. Bofur could keep doing as he liked, but Fíli would play a game of his own. He would figure it out. 

Once the two toymaking cousins finished saddling their respective ponies they left to return back to camp. Fíli started climbing down first with Kíli openly laughing above him. “Can you believe it? Bofur! The toymaker! Or is he a miner? Do you remember his toys? They were the best there were, Fíli, and he’s taken a fancy for you! No wonder he’s been watching you like a hawk, it all makes sense!”

That gave Fíli pause, stopping on a lower branch. “Wait, so you knew who it was this whole time?” 

Kíli nodded with a crooked grin. “Of course, that was easy to figure out. I just wanted to see who was doing the saddle thing to make sure.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me? That didn’t even cross through your mashed potato brain once?” Fíli groaned and continued to climb down. 

Kíli sputtered for an answer, confused as how his brains could be mashed potatoes. “No, because I didn’t want you to freak out!” 

“I wouldn’t have!”

“I didn’t know that! You seemed pretty bent out of shape about it earlier.” 

“Ugh, Kíli, I was not. You bastard,” Fíli more or less mumbled to his brother, refraining from getting too worked up over something he knew to be petty, but _seriously_. 

“Sorry! At least now you know because of my brilliant idea that _you_ didn’t think of doing. You should be thanking me, you fathead.” 

“I’m not thanking you. We climbed up a tree and spied, it’s nothing spectacular. I could have done it but you just decided to wake me up out of nowhere in the ungodly hours of the morning. What if someone had been keeping watch? You’re lucky they managed to fall asleep,” Fíli dropped to the ground and went over to the grazing ponies. 

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it except mumble and continue looking through your bags and over your shoulder every five minutes like a paranoid idiot. And besides, it was you who asked me to keep a lookout, if I recall correctly,” Kíli landed swiftly on his feet, his supple boots hardly making a sound on the forest floor. Fíli knew he was wrong but didn’t find it pertinent enough to correct him. “I don’t even know what you’re so angry about. At least it’s not Bombur.” 

“He has a wife and a fleet of children. And I’m not angry,” Fíli found Bofur’s saddle hanging over a low branch and he picked it up to bring over to his pony.

“Then don’t sound like it. I always tell you that, Fíli. And you’re setting up his saddle now, too? How sweet,” Kíli didn’t sound at all amused. “I’m going to go get breakfast.” 

“Fantastic,” Fíli mumbled in reply, buckling the thick strap and cinching it just tight enough. He shook it to make sure it was secure, and once he deemed it so he pet Opal’s nose softly and sighed. “Don’t tell him it was me, alright? It will be a secret.” She shook her mane in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	8. To the Stars! To the Night!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Stars! To the Night! - Le Loup
> 
> Fili talks to Bofur after the trolls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God these two kill me! I love them so much it hurts. And Bofur is a savvy, stubborn lil shit, and Fili is a cute little boy who doesn't realize what his stupid and courageous heart is getting him into, guh. Anyway. Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think or drop a kudos! (I really love everyone's comments, like really, it makes me feel all glittery and full of rainbows and sunshine)

If truth be told, Fíli thought the whole troll fiasco was rather exciting (minus the parts about his idiocy in leaving poor Bilbo behind and realizing his mistake, and the part after the fight where he nearly got his limbs ripped off like he was a ragdoll. The fighting was fun, though), and he could see it plainly on Kíli’s face as well. It was a little embarrassing to be stuffed in a musty burlap troll sack and then thrown in a pile, but _trolls_. Trolls were the product of his boyhood stories and they were real and exactly as amusingly stupid as fabled. Obviously he couldn’t speak for those on the spit roast. However, knowing that those _on_ the spit roast could potentially be cooked to death and he be forced to watch to await his own cooking, reminded him about their situation and the absence of an important wizard. No one had an idea to get out of this situation, so they sat. 

He could hear Ori whining from the roaster, good, quiet, honest Ori. As childhood friends, Fíli never imagined Ori to have the guts to even fathom a mission such as this. He was only a scribe, and had obtained his esteemed position only months before setting out. He had left it behind him to fight for a city he had not ever seen, only fabled in tales elders spoke about in the flickering candlelight in the dark. So did Fíli, so maybe Ori had more guts to him than he knew. 

He was only a little insulted Bilbo claimed they all had parasites after he ludicrously suggested skinning them first. He tried to bite his ankles for good measure to show him he certainly did not have parasites and he was not contaminated. Then it made sense. _Who knew hobbits were so clever_. 

Fíli was never more happy to see the old wizard once he saw the trolls had generated to stone. He greeted them all with a relieved smile that only spoke ‘idiots’. 

Bilbo helped Fíli first out of his sack and once free he held his favorite burglar so tightly his hairy feet were lifted off the ground. “F-Fíli! You’re crushing me!” 

“Oh! Sorry! I’m just so relieved, is all, I can’t thank you enough,” Fíli said with a wide smile. He took Bilbo’s blush as a good sign. 

He helped the others down from the spit roaster with Glòin and Thorin’s help once they were freed. In his haste to get the ropes cut carefully enough so Dori and Nori wouldn’t fall straight into the embers of the fire, it was no surprise to him that he caught Bofur at the right moment, looking at him on his lower left. He was halfway upside down, his head in between Nori’s calves, and the sight of him was comical. Fíli laughed outwardly while sawing the rope with his boot knife. 

“If yer arse cheeks were being fried, it wouldn’t be so funny, prince,” Bofur answered only with a little respite, more blushing than not (or was he just burned?). 

“I’m sorry, I’ll get you down quickly,” Fíli replied with a laugh still in his words. He cut the rope free just at the right moment for Glòin, Thorin and Kíli to catch and steady everyone on the roaster besides Dwalin. The hardened warrior jumped off onto the ground like his tail feathers were on fire, shouting curses at the stone trolls and laughing at them in spite. 

Fíli helped set the others to rights, smiling and laughing with his brother, who was just as relieved and mostly untroubled and unscathed as he. Thorin didn’t even tell them to shut up about the parasites and Bilbo’s seasoning recommendations. Dwalin even put in his own snarky quip that made most of the group chuckle. 

And all the while, Fíli could feel like he was being watched, but he didn’t mind. He gave Bofur a look that said everything and nothing and the miner almost forgot he was helping Bifur into his trousers. Fíli felt rather proud of himself and he was only entirely too aware about his backside as he turned. 

Scratching his head and itching for a piss, Fíli looked down and conveniently saw Bofur’s scarf lying at his feet. Swiping it up with a stupid smile, he sauntered over to where the miner was dusting off his overcoat, mostly dressed. 

“Forgot this,” Fíli spoke not three feet from him, holding out the dusty scarf that had seen better days, surely. 

Bofur looked up at him and donned his best smile. “Ah, many thanks, lad.” 

His smile was so bright and alarmingly charming Fíli almost cowed at the sight of it, his courage dwindling out through his boots. He felt his mouth go dry and his ears go hot. Bofur looked at him like he knew exactly what he was doing to the poor boys heart. “No need to be so sheepish, I only said thank you,” Bofur said smoothly, throwing the scarf around his neck. 

Fíli spat out the first thing that came to mind, “I’m not sheepish. I know what you’re doing,” he crossed his arms, satisfied. 

Bofur raised his brows, reaching over for his hat on a nearby boulder but he didn’t put it on, not yet. “Ohh. And what’s that, pray tell?” 

_Why is he playing dumb? He must know_ , Fíli thought unhappily. “You know, I know. You’ve been setting up my pony.”

“A courtesy.” 

_Oh. Well_. Fíli felt a cold iron hook twist his guts all up. _No, he’s lying_. “But doing it every day? I don’t think so. There’s something more to it, isn’t there?” _That’s it_. Bofur’s eyes showed a little more understanding. “What do you want from me?” 

Bofur’s hands holding his floppy hat fell to his side slowly and his easy smile faltered a bit. “I want nothing from you.”

Fíli rolled his eyes, sighing. He looked away at the canopy of trees in frustration. _There’s more to it, there has to be, I swear it_. He saw Kíli look over in his direction and the idiot gave him a grin and a discreet thumbs-up. Fíli looked back to Bofur, twiddling the sheep wool of his hat while his dark eyes jumped over Fíli’s face. There was a thought at the back of his mind telling Fíli it had been twenty-odd years since he had been this close to him, and his presence was still as comforting and ever the same. 

“I know it’s you who’s been watching me, too. Don’t pretend like you haven’t been, either. I know it’s you,” Fíli said quietly, watching Bofur’s face brighten into a gentle smile. He laughed, his eyes as dark as the darkest ale and it gave Fíli the same seeping warmth to his arms and legs, curiously enough.

“Aye, I suppose you’re right. But I wouldn’t call it watching, no. I’d call it observing. Watching has a strange ring to it.”

Fíli frowned and furrowed his brows. “It’s the same to me.” 

Bofur edged closer. Maybe only half a hands length taller than the prince, Fíli still felt his blood race and the warmth of the miner's body through his layers in the cool early morning in the forest. “No, that’s where you’re wrong, lad,” he plunked his hat back on his head and leaned a little closer, smelling of leather and wood smoke. “See, watching is plain ol’ watching. Observing… that’s watching with interest. Intrigue. Mostly interest.” 

Fíli’s eyes widened slightly, feeling a wave of heat bloom up from his chest. Bofur winked, put a hand on Fíli’s shoulder, and brushed past him with a sweet smile to leave the prince gaping after him.


	9. Oh, La

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, La - Ra Ra Riot (this song practically fits this chapter to a T. And it's a really good one!)
> 
> Though Rivendell is a fine place, Bofur is a big dumb and Fili is rather eloquent with words.

Having a warg jump over his head from behind was almost enough for Bofur to piss his breeches. Thankfully, he had to end up running for his life due to the fact of said wargs chasing after them in a near open field, so he didn’t have time to do so. 

Then they were surrounded. 

“ _There’s more coming!_ ” Kíli shouted before turning and firing more arrows. Bofur gathered up all his courage and decided there was nothing more to it. His mattock was trusty enough and he wielded it better than most, as least, he told himself. 

Bless the old wizard. Being closest to him, he was the first down into the ground, and only at the bottom did he realize his brother and cousin were still up there, and Fíli fending off wargs in the grasses. _Idiot! Why didn’t I get them down first_ …, then more of the Company came tumbling down the steep rock face, and then finally Thorin and Gandalf. 

There was a horn sounded almost as soon as everyone was down in the cavern, and Bofur thought it sounded rather high pitched and a little absurd. They listened, all that they could do, while bow strings thrummed and hooves on the earth pounded heavily and the screeches of the orcs all filled the cavern. They were hideous, telling by the one that fell, slain by an elf apparently. It made no matter to Bofur; it was dead and not attacking them and that was a substantial relief. 

Soon enough, the sounds faded and Dwalin spoke from the back of the cavern. “I can’t tell where the pathway leads. Should we follow it?” 

“Follow it, of course!” Bofur was entirely too anxious to get out, and it seemed like that was the only thing they could do. 

It felt like hours. In a thin shaft with coarse rock walls and an opening tens of feet above, it felt like they turned and weaved through the wormway forever. Sometimes Bombur got stuck behind him and Bifur had to push him through or Bofur had to pull on his vest. “Gods, you’re too fat, Bombur,” Bofur said in exasperation after the third time. Bombur only huffed. 

Rivendell was a rather pretty place, Bofur decided. He had only heard of it mentioned in stories that he read and in scorn by those who told them. Obviously they had never seen it, and even though it was inhabited by elves, it was no cause to hate such beauty. 

He was relieved when Thorin finally swallowed his tongue at the wizard’s scolding (to a stubborn child, it seemed. Bofur would have smacked him upside the head if he could). Bilbo looked particularly excited, a gentle smile on his face that Bofur hadn’t seen since the beginning of their journey while his eyes wandered the Last Homely House in awe. Bofur even felt relieved, though he had no outstanding love for the elves, he didn’t hate them, either. 

There was a moment he thought he could, however, when the elf warriors came straight at them on their big horse-beasts and brandishing flags and elaborate armor. Bilbo had no idea what was happening so Bofur pulled the little defenseless hobbit back and wielded his mattock nervously. They were around them all at once, their horses huge and so much taller than their lost ponies, the elves even taller. They didn’t even raise a sword at them but instead looked down their long noses from their horses and then their feet with ridicule, and suddenly Bofur felt a little foolish and improper. They were too hairless and girl-ish, but they could certainly give one a nasty stinkeye if they wanted to. 

After it was decided that they were no threat and that food was being offered, they all realized how hungry and exhausted they were. But, upon seeing the fare of their supper, Bifur was the only one who seemed truly grateful. 

It wasn’t as if no one ate, Bofur did, but there was a silent agreement that certain measures had to be taken. It happened to be Nori who went into the elf kitchens to see what was hiding, and he ended up coming back with bread, a cask of wine and a string of fat sausages. 

“But no meat?” Dwalin asked hoarsely. He sounded almost distraught, and yet it was a surprise to Bofur that Dwalin had completely supported Nori’s pilfering. Well, considering he had as much hate for the elves as their leader, it really wasn’t much of a surprise, after all. Bofur chuckled, recalling the sort of tryst the guardsman and the thief had in years past… so it was no wonder that Dwalin was entirely confident and yet let down by Nori’s _sticky_ fingers. 

“What are you laughing at? There’s nothing sustainable from these damn elves,” Dwalin nearly hissed, taking apart a chair from a room in the dwarrows’ suite. 

“Nothing, Mr. Dwalin, nothing at all,” Bofur shrugged out of his overcoat nonchalantly after unbuckling his belt with a crooked smirk. Dwalin gave him a suspicious look while breaking apart a chair leg and throwing it onto the pile they were forming. 

While tossing his overcoat over a line that Dori had strung up, Fíli was suddenly next to him. Bofur pretended not to be startled; he snuck up behind him just as quietly as a cat. 

“Free wine,” the golden haired prince said with a lopsided smile. 

Bofur laughed. “It could make up for the beer, I suppose. I haven’t had wine since Nori and I stole some from a tavern when we were lads. And elvish wine, nonetheless. _Ooh_.” He made a face to show he wasn’t particularly inclined. Wine made his stomach feel like he had gotten punched in the gut the next day, but beer or ale… that would do. 

“It’s nothing like mead or beer, I’ll give you that. And elvish,” Fíli said with a little distaste while looking towards the fire where Dwalin and Glòin had started cooking their share of the sausage. 

Bofur looked at him, noting how his hair was just the color of mead or amber ale. “Do you have the same loathing for elves as your uncle?” Bofur found himself asking, finding his pipe and pipeweed in his coat and then leaning against the railing next to Fíli. 

The prince furrowed his brows, probably not expecting such a question, but he thought about it anyway. “Loathing, no. I admit it’s been ingrained in me since I was a boy. My Uncle’s hate existed before I was born and has only grown since. I have a distrust for them and not an inclination to like them that much, knowing what they did.” 

Bofur nodded when Fíli finished, lighting his pipe. “I feel that way too. Hopefully this wine doesn’t sway our opinions negatively, aye?” 

Fíli’s eyes crinkled in a smile that would have taken Bofur’s breath away if he wasn’t smoking. “Aye.” 

Then Fíli stepped in front of Bofur so closely he could have moved his thigh only a little and would have rested against his groin, so _close_. Fíli took the pipe right out from Bofur’s mouth, put the bit into his own and took a long drag with his eyes roaming the miners lined face freely. He took it out and put the bit back between Bofur’s lips and exhaled through his nose steadily a second later. Bofur was almost entirely immobilized and that made Fíli laugh while brushing a strand of hair out of his face. 

“You only had to tell me you had an interest instead of observing me like a dolt,” he said steadily, moving back just a little. 

Bofur almost forgot how to form words. Iglishmêk came to mind but he didn’t know how to form meaning with that method. “A dolt… but, how? Me? You can’t, no… not me, surely.” Oh, how he felt like a fool, a blasted, unworthy fool. Why did he have to get into this situation? Fíli would tell him why he didn’t deserve him at this moment, he would, sooner was always better than later, _just say it. Say that I’m a miner and you’re a prince. Durin’s prince. You couldn’t taint your royal line with the likes of me_. 

“Why not you?” Fíli said with an honesty Bofur hadn’t expected. The way he said it sounded like he was entirely open to the prospect of tending to his desires, it was jarring. Bofur almost pitied him and his innocence and youth, pitied himself for his stupid and willful heart. _I should know what these kinds of things bring me. Heartache and loss and a hole I cannot fill_. 

Bofur pinched the space between his brows, wishing things happened differently. “I can come up with a hundred reasons why I am not good for you.” 

“I know what’s good for me better than anyone else,” Fíli replied calmly, oblivious to the storm raging in the confines of Bofur’s head. 

“But—But, just today you found out it was me and my stupid habit of setting up your pony—no, Fíli, you can’t just jump right into something.” Gods, he wanted this, he did, but he knew the outcome, he _knew_ , and he wanted to prevent it but it was so painful. Fíli, he was here, he was warm and radiant and tangible. He still felt his leg against his own and found himself wondering what it would be like to put his palm there, with his trousers on, and then with them off. It sent Bofur’s mind careening into a spiral he pushed himself out of. 

“No, I found out four days ago. When you and Bifur wrestled, Kíli and I were watching in the trees,” he said softly and took Bofur’s pipe again before he let it die out. He looked at the miner in thought while taking a few puffs. He moved to lean his elbows on the railing, and Bofur turned around to face the valley next to him. Fíli handed his pipe back. “Do you remember that lion you gave me?” 

Bofur’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes, I do,” he replied reverently, his eyes outlining the shape of Fíli’s silver-lined profile. _Yes, you and your golden curls and your smaller, softer hands that took it so carefully. The look you had given me was nothing short of awe_. 

“I loved that lion. No one had given me another toy I loved more than that one. Kíli broke off one of the legs after we had a bad argument of some sorts and it wasn’t ever the same after I glued it back on. I went back to see if you had any others, but you weren’t there, only Bifur,” he paused, listening to the waterfall that fell right below their feet. “And you told such stories. The best ones. You were so good at it, me and all my friends loved to come and listen to you. And you were kind. Some days we knew you didn’t want to have a dozen kids crawling all over you and getting in your way, but you told stories anyway. Once, I remember you talking my mother down from a fit when she couldn’t find Kíli and I. We purposely left because we knew that that day you were telling us a dragon story.” 

Bofur snorted through his red face, smiling just a little at the memory. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t shaking in my boots. Your mam is one fierce woman, she is.” 

Fíli nodded indulgently, suddenly missing her very much. “I don’t know what it was about you, but I always liked you. I told Thorin I wanted to be a toymaker. Me, can you imagine? I’m sure you know what he said to that.” 

Bofur laughed. “Aye, he called you a bloody fool, that’s what.” 

“Along those lines but less… outright. No, he told me I was an heir to a kingdom far to the East, full of riches and gold beyond imagination. Needless to say, I still wanted to be a toymaker, at least until I was old enough to start using real swords and real arrows and real axes. And then you were gone from the toy stall. I think I saw you in the market or a tavern or two after that.” 

“Aye, probably many taverns. Bombur will tell you all about the missing coins I whisked away to try and drink myself to the bottom of every stein I could find,” Bofur replied solemnly and almost so quietly Fíli could hardly hear him, all while he puffed his pipe and let the smoke escape through his lips. 

Fíli took his comment inwards and decided it was a topic for another day, whenever Bofur was ready to let him in to the deep passes of his thoughts (and his past, it seemed like), but he was more than willing to know. He swallowed and exhaled deeply. “I suppose I never thought it would be you who would have taken an interest in _me_ , I’m probably more the worst sort for you than you could ever imagine. Or even that you would be on this quest. _Or_ you would be the type to think yourself so undeserving of anyone who actually wants to give you the time of day, great _gods_ ,” Fíli huffed and shook his head, a smile playing sweetly around his lips. “If it’s the age difference that concerns you, I’ll have you know that I don’t give a wargs left arse cheek and that it’s not much of a difference.” 

Bofur chuckled lightly. He thought that they would get along quite well. “No, that’s not it. I was quite young even when you were a lad, though I probably don’t look it now.” 

That made Fíli blush for some reason and Bofur would have given both his kneecaps to know what he was thinking. “If you think that matters than you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” the prince replied, letting the gentle breeze from the valley blow through his hair. Bofur would have given both his kneecaps and both his elbows to just run his hands through that mane of hair and he would want for nothing for the rest of his life. 

“Shouldn’t it? I mean… I must be a decade or two older than you… Wouldn’t a lass your age be more suitable? Thorin is putting his lineage into you, shouldn’t you be producing heirs? I’m sorry to tell you that I am not the dwarf to provide that for you,” Bofur ended up laughing. 

“I’ve told you, I don’t care. Kíli is my lineage, and let me tell you, he is more interested in women than I am. I can guarantee he will provide sufficient children,” Fíli replied confidently but Bofur did not look much swayed. “Don’t look so doubtful, Bofur, I’m telling you that I’m alright with you continuing to ‘observe’ me, but now I want you to tell me what you think. And I’m telling you what _I_ think in that you’re attractive to all dwarfish standards and mine own and you can wield that mattock with great skill and I’m rather _intrigued_ ,” he rattled off while looking Bofur square in the face, his mischievous smile continuing to linger. 

Bofur was practically tongue-tied by the end of his speech, and more scatterbrained than he had been previously. _He said I was attractive_. He hadn’t been called that in years, and it was a substantial boost to his lack of assurances, and made him feel a little better. Maybe Fíli wasn’t such a poor choice after all (he never was a poor choice, just maybe unexpected). “Either way, I still think you’re the biggest fool I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but…,” Bofur took a breath. “alright. If you’re willing, than I’m more than so.” 

The smile Fíli gave him then was worth all his insecurities in a bucket. Then the prince snorted. “You think _I’m_ the biggest fool? And you’re the one who wouldn’t come straight out to me!” Fíli guffawed. “Please, Bofur, I’m not so daft to believe that shite.”

Bofur flushed a little and teasingly nudged his shoulder. “Do you see that waterfall down there? I’ll toss you right over and it’ll take you straight down, no bumps.” 

The prince laughed, his eyes so bright and sweetly wrinkled that it made Bofur’s heart warm. And for a fleeting moment, he thought he could be content, just for a moment. Fíli allowed him a lightness he had not felt for a long time. 

And all he could do was look into Fíli’s face and wonder what he had ever done to cause the prince to look back at him with the same reverence. 

\--

Bofur sat cooking a sausage next to their haphazard and makeshift fire, Bifur to his left trying to roast some greens, and Fíli to his right cleaning out his pipe. There was Dwalin near to the fire behind Fíli somewhat, but he was lying down with his hands behind his half bald head and chewing on a toothpick of sorts. Bombur was across the patio sitting happily on a table and eating some of the pickings that Nori found upon his second pilfering round (at Dwalin’s behest mostly, but Kíli was practically begging him to go as well).

Bofur picked the sizzling sausage off the roasting fork and looked at it, then to his brother, and smirked. He nudged Fíli, bringing him out of his quiet musings, and leaned sideways to whisper to him. “See, now… now would be an exceptional time to throw food at Bombur.” 

Fíli sniggered, and looking to Bombur his eyes filled with mischief. “Do it.” 

“Bombur!” Bofur tossed the sausage and just in the nick of time, Bombur caught it deftly. A creak from the table, then… 

Bofur rolled sideways in his rip-roaring laughter, right into Fíli’s side who joined the loud chorus of the rest of the dwarves who saw Bombur fall backwards at the crashing of the broken elvish table. It took awhile for their laughter to die down, especially when Bombur rolled to sit up and made a show of eating the one sausage that did him in. He gave a bow once he stood up to get out of the wreckage. 

“More firewood, aye?” he said offhandedly and the laughter started up again. 

“What is this noise about?” It was Thorin, returning from whatever meeting he had with Lord Elrond (was that his name?), Bilbo and Balin coming up behind him. Upon seeing the broken table with legs sprawled hitherto, and a fire started in the center of the suite without even a pit to contain it, he scowled at them but didn’t say anything against it. He walked through them to the other side of their suite without another word. 

Bilbo put his hands in his pockets and creased his brows. “What happened here?” 

“Bombur broke the table,” Bofur said, spearing another sausage and giving Fíli a sneaky sideways glance when he snorted to hide a laugh. 

“It was _his_ fault,” Bombur muttered but his voice was hard to hear through the rest of the chuckling from the Company that was still awake. 

“That’s that not very respectful,” Bilbo said more to himself, then picked a path through the lounging and sleeping dwarrows to his pack. 

Fíli looked over at Bofur and made a face that looked like they had all been caught in some vile prank. Fíli chuckled after Bofur shrugged and they both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guh, this chapter is one of my favorites, and it makes my heart cringe in happiness and joy and fluffy feelings! These two absolutely destroy me! I love them so much. Stupid Bofur is stupid but Fili knows just what to say to put him at ease. It's really quite adorable. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! I love to hear all sorts of opinions and thoughts!


	10. Meet Me On The Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Me On The Equinox - Death Cab For Cutie (there will probably be more songs coming from them because they're one of my favorite bands, okay)
> 
> Fili and Kili talk about some things and Fili finds a gift.

It was a very early morning, especially when most of the Company went to bed halfway drunk. Fíli was no exception. He didn’t drink nearly enough to trip over his feet on his way to his bed, but enough where he thought about a certain dwarf more intimately than he ought to have. 

His face was warm when he went to sleep, wondering what a miner’s body looked like beneath his clothes from all that hacking and carving with big tools. Was he chiseled, like the rock? Broad? Or tightly compact like the earth? He hardly even realized he was smiling when the thoughts returned again when said miner gave him an upbeat morning hello. Fíli thought that he had the same ideas, too. 

Climbing out of the Hidden Valley would have been a breeze if his head wasn’t throbbing something fierce. He looked behind him to his brother and saw he was experiencing the same fare. Kíli looked up at him and Fíli gave him a wink. The look he gave Fíli made him chuckle despite his head. 

Later, in the early afternoon, Fíli felt eyes on him. Now that he could put a face to it (a handsome one), for some reason, Fíli always knew it was Bofur. After figuring it out, of course it was, but he didn’t become aware of someone else’s eyes on him enough to give him tingles down his neck. In this case, Fíli set his pack and other satchels down for a quick break, and looked over his shoulder at Bofur. He gave him a broad smile that gave the miner pause before venturing out to an outcropping of huge boulders to make his water. 

Fíli stood near to Kíli, who had his head back and mouth wide open like he was expecting it to rain while he pissed. He stood a comfortable distance from him (they were brothers, yes, but he had no desire to see his little brothers cock) and pulled apart his trouser strings. “Who?—oh,” Kíli came back to reality, noticing it was Fíli. Seeing he was grinning, like he had been all morning, he furrowed his brows. “What’s got you all giddy like a bar wench?” 

Fíli shrugged, making shapes in the dirt while he pissed. “Nothing,” he said simply. He finished and tucked himself back into his trousers just as Kíli was doing the same. 

“Lies, brother,” Kíli said with a conspiratorially hiss. “I see your face. It’s Bofur, I bet.” 

Fíli wasn’t all that surprised. “Oh, how nosey you are.” 

“I knew it,” he crossed his arms smugly. “Have you two rolled in your pallets yet? Done the nasty? I bet he’s a good lay.” 

Fíli didn’t much like his last comment, so he only gave him a warning look that spoke many unkind things. “No,” he said resolutely. 

“You’d think from how you two hung on each other’s every word last night, and the way you looked at him when he pulled out his flute and played some songs. Ori noticed, too,” Kíli picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could, which was pretty far. Fíli knew he was just trying to get a satisfying reaction out of him to tell him all his thoughts on the miner, but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t entirely sure himself. 

“I don’t even think we’re courting,” he kicked a stone so it flew, and made a face when it almost hit poor Òin’s head. Of course the deaf sot didn’t notice, but his brother Glòin did, so Fíli quickly turned around and pretended it wasn’t him. 

“I thought that wasn’t something you wanted to do,” Kíli said, squinting at him in the bright sunlight. A breeze wheeled through and tousled their long hair. 

“It isn’t,” Fíli looked out into the valley still below them, but Rivendell was much smaller and the forest much bigger. The valley looked endless, cut only by a river that looked like a silver knife. Courting in their culture was still very much tradition and even required for some families. Being crown prince, he would be expected to court a suitor as per custom, with gifts and fancy words and more gifts. However, he didn’t grow up _as_ the crown prince, so courting someone in such manner always seemed foreign to him. He grew up with very little so the process was near virtually undoable with the extravagance it required, so he never took much thought on actually courting, though he knew gift giving and receiving was special. Giving gifts seemed more appropriate for birthdays, not to win someone’s affection. If it was meant to be, so it shall, and gifts of any sort couldn’t change that small fact. 

“Thorin will disagree, though,” Fíli added. Kíli knew his stance on the matter so he didn’t have to explain, but he would have to with Thorin if this tryst with Bofur went further. 

“Tell him to stuff it up his arse. Hearing ma talk about her courting shite with da made my ears bleed,” Kíli said, throwing another stone. “Do you know if Bofur is a bearer?” 

By that, Kíli meant if Bofur was able to have children while remaining male. Few though they were, it was another method for their people to populate since females are hard to come by and even less who are willing to breed. Fíli didn’t know many bearer dwarfs, but his friend Gunir back at the Ered Luin was, and Ori whispered to him a long time ago that both Dori and Nori were bearers, but he wasn’t sure because they didn’t wear their braids to indicate them as such. 

Fíli shook his head. “He isn’t.” 

Kíli outright laughed. “Fantastic, so now I must needs find me a suitable lady dwarf. Hopefully all those who return to Erebor once we reclaim it are inclined to pair up with one of the princes—me—and one of those who saved the city—also me—to marry. They’ll swoon at the sight, I see it already.” 

Fíli laughed at his brother’s sarcastic and idealistic thinking, crouching to pull a blue and yellow flower out of the mixed rocky terrain that Bifur might like. («The colored ones, not all the white ones»). “Aye, hopefully they won’t think twice about your sad lack of beard, brother.” 

“I hope Bofur is actually a bearer dwarf just because you said that. Then you’d have kids and you’d pull your hair out by the chunks.” 

“Still would be hairier than you,” Fíli said snidely. 

“It’s still coming in, you giant trolls arse!” Kíli pointed to his chin threateningly but remained in good spirits. 

Fíli stood and nodded his head back towards the direction where the others were circled. “Let’s go back.” 

The youngest Durin prince, grinning, threw an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t court him if you don’t want to, just see how it plays out. Don’t do what Uncle tells you or what he wants. Do the opposite. He’ll still love you anyway and realize you were right when it all turns to shite in the end.” 

Fíli scoffed. “Aye, good idea, little brother. You who still gets smacked to the head by Uncle.” 

Kíli smacked Fíli’s own head with the leverage that was allowed to him and went scampering off before Fíli could give him a harder smack, in the ground. Fíli gave the flower to Bifur when he returned and the badger dwarf gave him many thanks with appreciative gestures. Then, he gave him a squinty wink and a small toothy smile that made Fíli think twice, looking like he knew something that he didn’t. 

He went to his pack and crouched in front of it and opened it to find some of his waybread, only to find a bundle wrapped in his own tunic inside that he hadn't done himself. He picked out the wrapped up thing carefully with wary fingers, obviously put in there intentionally for him to find it but so it wasn’t so obvious, tucked a little behind another tunic. 

Wriggling it free at last, he found it was a carved lion. 

It was unpainted, a bright yellow wood that even for its handheld size still held incredible craftsmanship and detail. There was even a hint of whiskers and a snarl, tiny pricks for claws, the tail curled. Fíli’s heart swelled with a childlike happiness, moved by his small gift that at first glance would hold no meaning to anyone else. But, no… it was exactly the opposite. It meant more than the words Fíli could put to it, and even those words were not adequate. He ran his thumb over the unfinished side of the lion, not yet sanded down but not rough, carefully crafted, and he knew it held a striking resemblance to the one his mother would pack up or leave behind. 

He wanted to thank him. Profusely. With his mouth. Tell him that his boyhood crush grew into something mature and entirely raw and different (he said he liked him, but he meant crush. He could be terrible at conveying what he felt with words; he was more effective with action). He knew why his heart raced when he was near, how his fingers and knees turned to dough, how he let himself jump into this whole thing headlong. It was because he was an idiot and young and stupid, for one, but also because—why in Durin’s name not?

He might regret it later, but he’ll cross that river when it comes, and he’ll do it with Bofur or nobody. It made him excited. 

Carefully and discreetly, he tucked the lion into his coat because that was the one place Kíli wouldn’t find it (or Nori, if he really wanted to lose his hands). He picked up his pack and satchels to leave with the others, keeping a secretive smile all to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought about this chapter! Feedback is always the best to hear so I can tailor future chapters before I post them, and also I love to hear ideas and stuff!


	11. Serpents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serpents - Sharon Van Etten
> 
> The thunder battle, Goblin Town, and Azog. And Bofur being a little shy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long for an update! I was on a roll for awhile because I had 13 chapters ready to go, but I wanted to take it slower because I hadn't been getting far enough in actually writing to feel comfortable posting more. Because I have this thing where I reach a writers block so I let myself not deal with it until I feel compelled to write again, its kind of tedious. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and dropping kudos and comments! I love hearing from you!

“The legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!”

The monolith heaved a stone the size of an oliphaunt towards their side of the valley and it curved through the rain and thunder like a small moon. Upon impact against the mountain, Bofur could feel their ledge shake even as rock fell down upon them. The shaking grew until it was a noticeable tremble, then—oh, gods—the mountain _moved_. The mountain was moving, and them with it. 

“Kíli!” Fíli cried. “Grab my hand!” 

He leaned out reaching for his brother when he realized they would be separated otherwise. Bofur took a handful of Fíli’s coat and pulled him back before he would slip down the mountainside. Bofur could imagine the pit in the prince’s stomach when he realized that he couldn’t be with his brother when death suddenly became very possible. He didn’t let go of Fíli’s coat. 

“Spread your feet, lad. Brace yourself!” Bofur shouted at him and Bifur beside him through the noise of the mountain giant coming out of his slumber, along with the roaring rain and thunder booming overhead. 

The giant who came alive beneath them threw half the mountain at another stone monolith. Another stone giant came from the thunder and lunged forward, slowly, and rammed its head into the one they were on once it had stepped out of the mountain range. It couldn’t have come any sooner when Bofur saw they were heading straight into the side of the mountain they were just treading across. He couldn’t see how they would survive begin sandwiched between stone. Suddenly he was reminded of the mine cave in his father died in and wondered if this was how he felt. He knew the death and devastation that collapses caused, how deadly falling rock was, and he could only pray that death was quick.

He held onto his hat and pressed his back against the wall as they headed forward, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

He scraped his knees and elbows and hit his head so hard that his brains seemed to rattle, but the sound of the stone giant crumbling away was the sweetest sound to his ears. He wasn’t dead, and Fíli was alive next to him and his brother and cousin, and Bofur would have bet half his life that they were dealt the same bruising. Bofur sighed with relief and looked to see how Bifur fared. Then he noticed he still held Fíli’s coat in his vice grip. 

Looking at the prince across the rocks next to him, he smiled through the rain running down his face and the hair in his mouth. Fíli seemed to visibly deflate with a sigh of relief next to him before Bofur got up, noticing that the hobbit was nowhere to be seen. 

Poor Bilbo nearly slipped off the mountain and he clung on for dear life before their very own leader jumped down and heaved him up like a sack of potatoes. Bofur felt terrible for Bilbo for the way Thorin spoke to him, so when the decision was made to enter the cave near them, he made a point to wrap his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders to try and comfort him. He only seemed a little eased by the gesture, but Bofur lead him into the cave anyhow. 

Bofur checked Bifur and Bombur for any serious hurts despite their protests that they were fine while Fíli embraced his brother. Thorin even made an effort to touch foreheads with his eldest nephew and clutch his shoulders in a form of a hug, it seemed. He then told Bofur he was set for watch and Bofur didn’t even care that he was first watch when Fíli started approaching him, pulling down his wet brown hood with the most beautiful and tired smile on his face. 

“Are you alright?” he asked in a weary voice, stepping close to him and putting a damp hand behind Bofur’s neck and he copied his gesture, nodding. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he replied just between them before pulling Fíli inwards to press his own forehead against his. It was a gesture only reserved in their culture for those with close bonds like lovers or family. Bofur wouldn’t consider themselves either, but he couldn’t deny how important Fíli became to him (and how much he desired to achieve the former with him). It was an immense comfort and joy to him that Fíli didn’t pull away. 

“Thank you,” Fíli whispered, gently grasping Bofur’s neck in gratitude. 

“For what?” he opened his eyes and he could see just how long and thick Fíli’s lashes were. 

Fíli pulled back but still kept his closeness and dropped a satchel from his shoulder so he could pull open his coat a little. He reached inside and pulled out the little wooden lion that he had carved. Bofur would have turned into a tomato if that was physically possible by how red his face had become, so he opted to try and hide it by pulling off his hat and shaking it off and pretending to inspect it for tears (he knew where all the tears were). 

Fíli chuckled. “You’re bashful,” he said teasingly while tucking the lion away once more. 

Bofur couldn’t help smiling, but he bit his lip before replying, “Aye.” 

The prince sighed and put a light hand on his shoulder, causing Bofur to look up at him. “It’s more endearing than you know, Bofur,” then his hand slid off and he turned away to find a spot next to his brother to sleep for the night. 

Bofur couldn’t have blushed any harder by the way his name slipped so easily off his lips.

\--

The floor opened up like yawning mouth after he noticed that Bilbo’s dagger was shining blue. He slipped backwards after trying to catch his balance, and he saw everyone else fall in before him, suddenly awoken in the middle of the night. 

He didn’t believe there was a hell until he tumbled down into its very pit. 

\--

It smelled of rot and filth and smoke, clouding his lungs and eyes as soon as he realized what had happened. He was all sorts of bruised and achy after the thunder battle, but now falling down that shaft had his body bent in all sorts of ways it shouldn’t have gone. A stampede rattled the wooden boards before they were overcome by sharp grabbing hands and wild unearthly calls that heralded no good things. They were manhandled and jerked hitherto, herded down rickety wooden pathways like cattle. 

This goblin city was massive, full of the rankest and foulest creatures and contraptions, shouting at them and chortling, climbing over each other to get a look at the thirteen dwarrows. Bofur looked up at all of them in scorn and loathing, cursed at those who yanked at him about and fought for his hat. 

The king was a sight like none other. Disgusting, revolting and cruel, he exhibited the dwarrows to the city like they were a circus and a wave of jeering returned it. 

Bofur hadn’t felt so much dread or anger in so many years; he had forgotten the rotten pit that bloomed like a parasite at such nasty, negative feelings. They pulled open his coat and patted him down and would have snaked their grubby hands down his trousers if he hadn’t broken a jaw or two. He felt disgusting and violated just being in the mere vicinity of these goblin creatures. 

Bofur couldn’t see an escape or barely even fathom one. There were _millions_. He saw them all above, all around, all below. Their weapons were taken, captured, and they were forced to endure the thick and choking, filthy air. He hated every one, every ugly twisted faced spiked a pang of loathing and abhorrence. Never did he feel so hateful and hopeless, like dark hands had perused his very blood and being and contorted his heart. This quest would take more out of him than he had thought, and he already could feel it at the blackened fingers of half a million goblins. 

Then—a _light_. It was such a light he was knocked flat on his arse even in a crowd, blanketed by his fellows and goblins alike. It was glorious, even for just a moment, and when it was gone he yearned for nothing more.

“Take up arms,” an old strong voice echoed. “Fight!” 

Gandalf, oh thank Mahal, the wizard returned for them! He didn’t have time to rejoice since the goblins had come to and they needed to _fight_. Nothing sounded better at that moment and Bofur only wanted steel in his hands to just fight and kill. It was savage and primal but their situation was as such so he knew the exact answer to solve it. 

He was just as efficient with an axe as he was with his mattock, though it was considerably easier to swing. Both weapons required heavy, strong blows and Bofur was just the dwarf to deliver. He slew countless goblins, kicking them off bridges, slicing guts open and chopping off limbs. His hands were hardened by decades of hard mine work but he fought so long and hard he felt new blisters forming in new places and in old ones. He considered himself lucky he was not in Dwalin’s list of things to kill and maim for he was a flurry of death-dealing blows. Or even Balin’s, or Òin’s, or… pretty much everyone, even Ori wielding a huge warhammer instead of his dingy slingshot. Dori was particularly fierce with his bolas and his strength; Bofur even saw him fling three goblins at once over the edge like they were only sacks of oats. 

He didn’t follow anyone in particular, just whoever was running ahead of him. Every now and then he spotted Thorin or Gandalf, but he soon needed to lop a head off. He did keep an eye after Bifur and Bombur, however, just so make sure they were caught up with the rest of them and not left behind (gods, what a nightmare that would be). Bofur had no idea Fíli fought with two swords at once; he thought one was just a spare. Well, he’ll be damned, Fíli was certainly a dwarf to be reckoned with by the prowess of his skill with two blades. Even one blade would still do twice the damage Bofur would inflict. Fíli and his brother alike were _trained_ to do battle while Bofur had only ever spared, if that. A strange sense of pride welled up beneath his ribs. 

Falling down a shaft on a plank of wood was certainly not Bofur’s method of transportation of choice. If he had moved even five inches backward he could say goodbye to the back of his head for it would have been grinded flat. At the bottom of the shaft, his head was not flat and the rest of the Company was still in one piece. There were no goblins down here, either, so all in all, it wasn’t that bad. 

“That coulda been worse,” Bofur declared and not one second later, that fat, useless Goblin King fell upon them and nearly crushed them into flat cakes. 

Oh, _Mahal_ , more goblins started descending towards them, wonderful. After everyone crawled out of the pile, they all raced off after the wizard to what was, hopefully, an exit. And gods be good, it was. _Sunlight_. They were there a whole day, it seemed, the sun far to the West and setting, and for most of the night. 

Then panic set in. Where was the hobbit? _Not Bilbo, not him, no_ , Bofur pleaded desperately in his head when there was no sight of him. He had no business dying or getting lost on them! Just as the rest of the Company started arguing and Thorin claiming he had returned home, the little burglar popped out from behind the trees as if from the air. No one had seen him coming. He was really quite the excellent burglar, after all, though Bofur never doubted that (despite Bilbo’s claims). 

Bofur really would have liked to give Bilbo a good slap to the back once he had spoken so frankly to Thorin. He needed it. And if Bofur wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw a faint glimmer of appreciation flit across through their kings’ eyes. 

Then a howling sent ice stabbing into the very pits of his stomach. More wargs. 

“Run! Into the trees!” Gandalf shouted, and they all did just that. Finding the nearest one, he hauled himself up into it, his arms shouting in the effort, before the cursed beasts could pluck his boots off and his feet with them. 

When his tree managed to tip over, Bofur scraped his hands holding onto the branch he had picked to jump to. Then that tree leaned over, the wargs howling and screeching to knock them sideways. By the time he was safely in the last tree, his palms were bleeding and blistered and his shoulders tight and his back taut. He hadn’t noticed his hand warmers were gone. Gods, he was just exhausted. He felt it seep into his very bones and would have liked nothing better than to sleep, and eat, it didn’t matter where, but a bed sounded lovely. He had almost forgotten what a good bed felt like. 

They flung flaming pine cones at the wargs and it fended them off well enough until all their combined weight in the last tree and the incessant pushing of the wargs sent it tipping backwards, and then Bofur hoped he was indeed sleeping and this had all been a terrible dream. The goblins, the fighting, the wargs—he prayed it was all just a dream because now he was truly on the brink of death. 

Thorin, seeing their predicament, thought the only solution was to get up and fight the stupid pale orc for himself through fire and flaming trees. He was so close to getting his head lopped off before Bilbo went and tackled the orc, then it was all a sort of a blur because Dori and Ori were slipping and Bombur had broken several branches and Bifur was almost chanting in khuzdul. Then Bofur really thought his brother was the luckiest dwarf in the world and thought about how much he loved him and his apple pies and potato dumplings and all his beautiful nieces and nephews. 

“Bombur,” he said, struggling to hang on and they caught eyes. “Bombur, just hang on a little longer, alright? Just a little—“

Was that a bird call? Mahal! It was so close! Dori and Ori fell away and then, bless his eyes, there were _giant eagles_. Eagles! First stone giants, a fat Goblin King, and now eagles? Great Maker, this was quite the sightseeing adventure. 

The eagles plucked each dwarf off with their talons and dropped them onto a back or held onto them, all the while the rest were taking care of flinging the wargs and orcs off the cliff. Then Bofur’s branch broke while he was caught in awe and he was just about to scream, praying there was an eagle there to catch him, and then there was one. Bofur thanked the eagle’s ear off while they flew away from Azog and that blasted mountain. 

They flew over ranges and valleys towards a towering rock spire in a valley where a few smaller mountains converged. The eagles dropped them off on the spire what Bofur would find out later to be called the Carrock by a strange fellow named Beorn, but nonetheless, the rock was never more welcoming. 

“Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” Thorin barked hoarsely, and Bofur shook his head at his pigheadedness for the hobbit having saved his life, but he continued listening. “I have never been so wrong… in all my life.” 

Oh! He hugged him! Marvelous! Bofur would never tell another soul that Thorin Oakenshield had a stick up his bum (he really always said it kindly because he did respect Thorin, but he will never say such again). 

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo said at last and turned around. Thorin seemed to forget all of space and time when he walked to the edge of the spire. 

It was the first time Bofur had ever seen the Lonely Mountain. He had never thought about how small it would look from so far away. It really did look lonely, all by itself, a single tent in a vast field. But he couldn’t have been happier to see the sight, knowing they were just halfway there, and after the past two or so days, that was a welcome prospect indeed.


	12. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireworks - Animal Collective (one of my favorite songs ever, definitely recommend a listen)
> 
> Fili and Bofur start figuring things out, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good chapter, I promise. Thanks for reading!

Grass had never felt so soft once Fíli laid down on it. He moaned. He never wanted to get up and walk again on his feet; they _ached_. It was like he had walked all this way from the Ered Luin and never stopped once. 

Eventually, he had to get up, though. Thorin rested against a log near to where Bombur and Bifur were setting up a fire, hearing buzzes about how he was wounded from the warg’s bite. He told him to accompany Bilbo (he said his real name, _Bilbo_ , not halfling or hobbit, which made Fíli smile in surprise) to collect some flowers and herbs so he, _Bilbo_ , and Òin could create a salve for everybody’s wounds. Fíli reluctantly went with Bilbo and Kíli before the sun could set and thus their light limited in the forest. He just wanted to talk to Bofur and ask him how he was, to hear his voice tell him he was unhurt. It was an odd yearning for he had never wanted to hear something so much before, and he almost felt out of his skin. He looked back over his shoulder before going into the forest and noticed that the miner had a slight limp that preoccupied Fíli’s thoughts during their plant search. 

Bilbo told the two of them what each plant was and its uses and Kíli responded more enthusiastically than someone who had been through a goblin town and chased by wargs should have, but it was all Kíli. Fíli was just too tired to respond much, only useful for carrying bushels in his coat pockets and arms and giving an affirmative grunt. 

Thankfully it only took them fifteen minutes to get sufficient herbs and supplies and just in time to arrive at their camp before the sun set. Fíli left his bushels with Bilbo and Òin and Kíli to go to Bofur, wringing his hands as he made his way over, picking at blisters. He was sitting next to the fire, his hat lopsided while he inspected his flute. Fíli sat down next to him on the ground with achy and creaky joints and Bofur barely gave a start. He smiled tiredly at him and it was the most comforting thing he had seen all day. He would have thrown his arms around the miner if half of the others weren’t all around them, ready to presume more than they should. 

“How are you?” Fíli asked sincerely, his eyes flitting over Bofur’s face for any bruises or cuts, stifling a yawn. 

“I’m alright. All shaken up and battered is all, but I’m alright,” he put his flute aside and took one of Fíli’s hands. “Don’t worry about me, lad. I’m as steadfast and sturdy as the mountains. I should be worrying more about you.” 

“I’m just the same as you are,” Fíli said stubbornly, holding onto his hand absently, feeling the cuts and the sticky sap. He had warmers on earlier, before the goblins, but they must have taken them. “Will you come with me?” he wanted to talk to him more privately, away from prying eyes. He almost surprised himself by his proposition for he had always been a reluctant one to initiate things first, then he felt a sudden knot of cold regret coil in his stomach. 

“Always,” Bofur said instantly and stood up with him. Gods, that was a relief. It seemed like today was not the day for Fíli to dig a hole and bury himself in it. With a little more confidence, Fíli led him over to a knoll a dozen paces away in front of a stream. They sat on the sloping side of the knoll, facing the narrow stream where it twisted and turned out of the valley. 

“I saw you walking with a limp. I don’t believe that you’re alright,” Fíli said sternly and seriously but not so much he was commanding; sometimes he could scare himself by how he could speak so similarly to his uncle. He was just so used to looking after people, his brother in particular, and he had done the same with all his friends back home. He had checked Kíli’s arms multiple times to see for any broken bones because he saw his brother fall awkwardly back at the caves, and probed his ribs for any breakages there but Kíli shoved him off. Thorin saw his look of concern on the way down the Carrock and assured him multiple times he was fine, for the most part, he was not yet defeated. It didn’t help much to alleviate his worries, but Thorin was always one to hide his pains. Fíli learned that while working the forges with him, and for just growing up with him (and his mother’s ramblings). Thorin knew he wouldn’t be content until he was entirely convinced, so he sent him with Bilbo to find those herbs to try and help. It did, mostly, for Fíli also knew Thorin was in good care with Bilbo and Òin.

Bofur huffed out a laugh. “Please, Fíli, I’m alright, truly. It’s just an old injury from, from mining. How are you? I see bruises and cuts on your face,” he freely reached out and ran his thumb over one of them across the bridge of his nose, across his cheekbone. And his hair was tousled, glorious and beautiful and _alive_. And those eyes never were so blue or so sharply piercing. 

Before he could do anything brash, Bofur took his hand back and picked up his flute. “There’s a crack at the bottom here. It sounds good still but you can hear a rasping, see,” he put his mouth to the tip of it and aligned his fingers and played out a few notes just enough so Fíli could hear it. “I think I heard that you and your brother played the fiddle?” he asked, and it was strange to Fíli that he could hardly look at him. 

“Yes, but we didn’t bring them along. They’re much easier to break than a flute. I wish I did, though. We could have played together,” he smiled a little, hoping that Bofur was only nervous to be alone with him like he was. “Dwalin did bring his fiddle though, but it’s probably gone now.” 

“I have nothing left to me except for the clothes on my back, the hat on my head, my flute, aaand,” Bofur went rifling through his outer pockets and inner pockets, and managed to pull out one half of his pipe. “a half of a pipe. Lovely.” It was only the bowl and a portion of the stem, and putting his lips to the broken end like he was smoking it made Fíli laugh. 

“Ah, still looks pretty useful,” he japed. 

“It’ll get the job done, no doubt. If I don’t get splinters in my mouth first.” 

Fíli was laughing harder than he had in weeks, and not just because of the broken pipe but because he could be dead or seriously hurt, or Bofur could be, or Kíli, or anyone else.

They had been through a rotting hell and fought their way out tooth and nail, had clung onto trees for dear life and fought wargs and flew on eagles—they were _alive_ and Fíli couldn’t be happier with Bofur next to him and sitting on a pile of gold. He laughed and clutched his sides and wiped his eyes all until Bofur kissed him. 

It was gloriously welcomed. He had his hand on his jaw and his lips were warm and full and it felt like a thousand little bees brushed Fíli’s skin, and even though Bofur smelled of sweat and grime and wood, it was Bofur kissing him and it couldn’t have been any better. 

He pulled away, his rough fingers slipping down his neck like he was taking his hand back again, and they both looked each other in the eye, knowing without words that this was revelating. Bofur’s eyes spoke awe like he didn’t believe what he had done but he was so saturated in wonder, Fíli couldn’t help but marvel at his face. He threw his arms around his neck and pulled him back to kiss him full and hard on the mouth. 

Bofur eased him down onto the grassy knoll, his fingers finding a way into Fíli’s dull gold hair at last. It was exactly as he had imagined, though tangled it was, it was magnificent and Fíli gave so sweetly to his touch. His hair was thick, coarse, but it slipped through his roughened fingers like water. The smell of him wafted into his nose and Bofur breathed him in deep, dizzied. He was besotted senseless with the mere thought of him beneath his hands like he was a glorious invention, like he had to be handled carefully for this work was rare. Why had he waited so long? Why had he denied his desires for him? In hindsight it could have been possibly the most foolish thing he had ever done, letting his head get in the way of his heart. 

Admittedly, it has been almost a decade since Bofur has kissed anyone, but it all came back to him when Fíli’s mouth opened up beneath his. Their lips slid together wonderfully, smoothly, and Bofur was all at once reminded how much he had missed this. And with Fíli, his golden prince kissing him back so committed, oh, nothing or nobody compared. Nothing compared to how wonderful this was. He wished he hadn’t waited so long. 

They kissed for awhile longer before Fíli had to move because there was a rock in his back, only to trick Bofur so he could roll him over so he was above him. He was mostly on his side, however, his leg in between Bofur’s, and the prince kissed him softly and chastely, lingering across his unshaven jaw and neck. It was very intimate and made Bofur’s stomach roil before he laughed loudly when Fíli’s mustache tickled the sensitive skin by his ear, so Fíli gave him a big fat, wet and slobbery kiss on the neck while rubbing his mustache over the spot. Bofur pushed him away, calling him a disgusting little twit with a broad smile before he tugged him back by his mustache braids to preoccupy his slobbery mouth. 

Fíli threw off his boots, literally, by tossing them into the air and letting them land where they may. He pulled off his thick woolen socks and threw them away before either caught a whiff. “Gods, I had forgotten I had real feet. I have toes!” he said excitedly to Bofur, mocking real surprise while he wriggled them in the grass. 

“Wow, really? Toes? I don’t believe I have toes,” Bofur replied before doing much the same as Fíli had except he tossed his boots away instead of throwing them in the air. “Look! Toes! Bless me, they’re real and I have them.” 

Fíli laughed heartily with a thick blush before pulling Bofur on top of him to kiss. He ran his fingers over his head, his floppy hat had long since fallen off, and he deeply wished that his hair was unbraided so he could run his fingers through the rich, dark thickness of it. He could make do, though, as he particularly enjoyed brushing his bangs out of his face and tucking his excess hair behind his ears. Bofur was almost soothed to sleep by Fíli’s ministrations where they lied aimlessly, but Fíli blew into his face to make him jerk awake. Bofur furrowed his brows a little but smiled up at him when he saw how radiant he was in the moonlight. 

“You take my breath away, d’you know that?” Bofur mumbled quietly, his voice making his chest rumble where Fíli had chosen to lay out his arm, the length of his body aligned along his own. 

“I do?” Fíli whispered incredulously, blushing. 

Bofur hummed. “Aye. Since Bag End. I saw you and your gold hair and I couldn’t take it, I felt so inferior,” he replied slowly, sleep weighing down his eyes and voice. “So I avoided you when I felt useless but I wanted to talk to you all the same. Just to say hello, or tell you about vicious squirrels,” they chuckled. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything about it, only saddle your pony. I’ve always been a shy sot, and I suppose it doesn’t change with age, even after you thought you’ve seen it all,” he sighed and rubbed his brows, his other hand warm against Fíli’s upper back

Fíli rested his chin on hands, comforted by his confession and touched by it. Then, he asked reluctantly, “Do you have a One, Bofur?” he never wanted to ask or to even know the answer, but Kíli brought it up in whispers when they were supposed to be sleeping in the cave before the goblins, and it hasn’t left his mind. It was pertinent for him to know and he knew it, but it hurt. 

Bofur didn’t answer for a good minute, his eyes closed or looking into the sky, all but Fíli’s face. “No. I don’t,” he replied with strong hints of sadness. “I have never been blessed with a Longing.” Then did he look at Fíli through his lashes carefully. “D’you?”

Fíli pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “I do, yes,” his stomach sank into the ground upon his very words. 

Bofur sighed and held his breath. _That could complicate things by a lot_. He swallowed and made a short prayer to the Great Smith. 

Fíli continued. “But I don’t feel my Longing like I used to. I never even felt it that strongly in the first place, but it’s different with you. I know your presence, when you look at me. I know it’s you, Bofur, and it gives me… it gives me great comfort,” he said steadily, meaning every word but feeling his courage waiver, keeping Bofur’s eyes locked. “I… I feel many things for you, I think, and I don’t want the prospect of someone I’ve never met come in between that.” 

“But when you know… when you see… you have two choices. The One the Maker destined for you, or me, if I’m still there for you to make that choice in later years,” Bofur looked mightily disheartened and it made Fíli upset to see it and he wished he had never brought it up. 

He put his forehead on his arms and sighed. “I don’t want to talk about such troubling things anymore. I just want to lay here with you,” he mumbled into Bofur’s chest. Bofur responded by running his hand along his back and nuzzling his nose to the top of his head, rumbling an agreement. He pushed the conversation from his mind and found immense solace in holding Fíli close, his body warm against the coolness of the night without fire. 

It was late morning when they were finally woken by Kíli and Bifur, and the old badger dwarf offered them both stalks of honeysuckle to break their fast. Fíli and Bofur looked at each other and smiled before taking the flowers. 

Kíli made a face at their soppiness so Fíli threw Bofur’s hat at him.


	13. Heart It Races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart It Races - Architects in Helsinki (I like the version played by Dr. Dog better)
> 
> Fili is a naughty and Bofur spreads some good vibes all around. Oh, and some of Bofur's past experiences are revealed. Lovely.

Gandalf said his friend that they were meeting nearby was only a day’s walk, but they were all so reluctant to leave they set off from the shadow of the Carrock in the early afternoon, and had shortly come across a river which they had all chosen to bathe in. Thorin almost seemed to request that everyone bathe before they started off again. 

Fíli and Kíli had undressed rather quickly, before any other member of the company had even stripped their breeches. Bofur was granted a very appealing view even from a couple dozen paces away from the bank as the boys splashed in, but nonetheless, he knew Fíli’s arse would have been a damn good sight. The water was warmer than he expected, warmed from months of summer sun, and so it was a blessing that they could all swim comfortably in it after days prior. Letting his three braids loose and combing his fingers through his hair briefly, Bofur dipped under the surface and had never been more delighted to be swimming naked. Gods, it was heavenly. He even felt cleaner though there were no soaps available. In any case, it was immensely refreshing. 

Bofur surfaced near Kíli, who was half bent in the water for something “You still have your hair clip in, lad,” Bofur told him without a care in the world as he drifted by, a lazy smile on his face. 

Kíli looked up like he was surprised Bofur was there. “Oh!” he raised his hands to his head once he registered what the older dwarf said. “Thanks,” he took the clip out and held it in his mouth, bending back over, nearly in the water completely. 

Bofur furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get something at the bottom. It feels like a sword but it’s stuck,” he said past the clip in his teeth. 

“Oh. Alright. I thought you had been doing something else,” Bofur chuckled and Kíli barked out a laugh. Bofur looked over to his left where Fíli was getting splashed at by Ori, turning the color of beets. The lad’s eyes were surreptitiously focused on a certain tattooed guardsman and he heard Fíli make a teasing quip about it. Bofur sniggered deviously. _It seems our little scribe has a taking for our most hardened warrior. If Dwalin knew, I’m sure he would_ really _be hardened_. Bofur itched to go tell Fíli his latest gossip. 

The blonde prince was standing in the middle of the shallow river, the water line just at his hips with his back facing him as he swam up behind him. Fíli was wringing out his hair and staring off in the direction of the Carrock and a part of the green-carpeted mountains where they split and allowed a beautiful view of the sky and the fat, lazy clouds drifting by. Water dribbled down his spine and well-muscled back so deliciously Bofur was tempted to swab it all up with his tongue. 

_What? Did I really…?_ Bofur hadn’t had a single dirty thought like that in a long time. Surely, he has thought about Fíli naked, and a few others of the Company, if truth be told, but never anything of a sexual nature. _By Durins’ beard, what is becoming of me?_ He thought with a light chuckle, which alerted Fíli to his presence. 

He turned half around, and gods be good, he was a sight to behold. A vision, put lightly. He was of a broad shape that was typical of a dwarf, with wide shoulders and a barrel-chest, a beautifully tapered and yet thick waist that still maintained his compact and defined muscles. He was an immaculate representation of dwarfish desires, and Bofur was quickly finding he had no idea how to speak. His mouth went dry, trying not to let his eyes probe any further than his ribs, but it was a much easier idea than done. His chest was layered with blonde-ish brown hair that lingered to a line down his belly, disappeared, then gathered around his navel and continued downwards but Bofur only stopped at his navel. 

“ _Shite_ ,” Bofur breathed out without realizing it, biting his lip. 

Fíli guffawed. “Mahal, I’m not a piece of meat,” he said in low voice, but he almost seemed to square his round shoulders a little, his confidence radiating off him. His crooked smile would have set Bofur off if he was a much less controlled dwarf like in his youth, but now he knew how to savor such things. And savor it he did. 

He had to dip his head under the water to hide his terribly red face, however. When resurfaced, Fíli was still looking at him, pulling his fingers through his hair. Bofur looked at him with a soppy grin. “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s just been… a very… long time, since…,” Gods, he just sounded ridiculous, so he slapped a hand to his face. 

“Ohh,” Fíli said with understanding but Bofur knew he was going to tease him just by the sound in his voice. “It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten it up, eh? And by me. I’m flattered.” 

Bofur had never felt so scandalized! He could only open his mouth in protest but no words came forth; his mind was swept blank. Fíli took this opportunity to face him fully and continue. “My, one would almost think it’s been _years_ by the look on your face. No wonder you’re still crouched, you’re _hiding it_ ,” he whispered the last bit in a hiss, an evil grin splitting his wretchedly beautiful face in two. 

Bofur splashed him, completely embarrassed because he was correct on all accounts. “Fíli!—“

“ _Fíli_!” he moaned low and gutturally, seeming to take fuel from Bofur’s embarrassment in the subject. He bit his lip so attractively Bofur now had a reason to not stand up, if his hardening and tingling groin was anything to go by. “Please tell me that’s what you sound like in bed.” 

Bofur rolled his eyes, wondering where on middle-earth this was coming from. He never expected Fíli to be so… _lewd_ , but that didn’t go without saying that Bofur liked it. It was very attractive, not to mention him teasing him with full views of his chest. Fíli crouched in the water and was swimming towards him but Bofur went backwards. “I am leaving your shrewd and perverted presence,” Bofur joked, laughing, and Fíli took that as a sign to swim faster. 

“No, I don’t believe you! I would never!” Fíli complained along with the joke, reaching for Bofur’s arm more than once but he slipped away. Eventually he splashed him. 

“Then yer really as much of a trouble-maker as I thought!” Bofur teased in return, swimming under the surface again to avoid a second splash. 

It took a good ten minutes for Bofur’s erection to dissipate so he could climb out of the water safely, after carrying his clothes to the opposite bank than the one they waded in from. Fíli gave him the worst looks the whole time he dressed and Bofur was half tempted to take him behind a tree and screw him senseless. Ah, but he was just of age, it was possible that he had never been with a man before. He seemed to know carnal pleasures well enough by the way he spoke, but with _whom_ Bofur couldn’t guess. He would have to find out so he knew what to expect. Asking Kíli came to mind since the two of them shared secrets like old women, but that might cause an awkward situation since Kíli might disapprove. In any case, Bofur was open to any and all prospects. 

The Company continued making their way like ducklings in a line following Gandalf. There was hardly any path to speak of for most of the way, animal tracks at best, so there was very little talking to be had. Bofur wondered what he would do with all the gold he would receive if all went well. Bofur asked Thorin when he signed up if he had any idea how much the hoard was, but Thorin shook his head. “Millions and millions in just one pile, I can tell you.” Even when he spoke, he sounded unsure. “And there are hundreds of such piles. One fourteenth will be yours, guaranteed, as long as you speak of it to no one outside of the Company.” 

Bofur couldn’t even wrap his head around it. Being so rich beyond imagination was nearly inconceivable when he had lived such a poor life. Not poor in the sense he had a lack of good memories, or love, or family, but he had never had much. He would say he had a good life up to this point, though there was a period of it where it was not so good for many years. There were bad memories there, full of anger and sorrow and loss. 

He would rather not think about such things, so he went back to the topic of gold. 

Gold hair was not common among their race; there were variations to some extent, but not like Fíli’s. Bofur had always had a penchant for those with hair not common, he realized with a fond smile. His hair was long and thick, taking on some of Thorin’s or Dìs’ texture but less tamed; it was wild, coming out of his clip more often than not. It was coarser than Bofur’s own but it held a softness to it that he yearned to touch again. He shone with it, he gleamed, and as silly as it sounded, Bofur would continue to sing the same tune. 

Thoughts about how his legs had entwined with his own, how his lips fit so perfectly against his, his skin had felt so smooth, it all made Bofur close his eyes in such want he felt unlike himself for a few good minutes. His stomach twisted with red hot pokers, remembering his dripping body and the unbidden lust in his eyes when he teased him—gods be good, what was Bofur going to do? He hadn’t realized that he had desired Fíli for so long, he always held those feelings at arms length until last night, or even today. He was too old to be having such wanton thoughts! Mahal, he had been married, such thing shouldn’t seem like he had never thought or done them before as if he was but a boy in his twenties! 

Bofur laughed quietly to himself, running a hand over his face. Feeling everything like new because of Fíli wasn’t so bad, either. It was good. He felt a little younger and even more confident of his experience (he had lots of experience in all his long years of being young, drunk and promiscuous). Now he was _dying_ to know what Fíli knew, what he had done. He certainly could kiss damn well, that was for sure. It gave Bofur chills. 

While Gandalf lead them on, Bofur pulled out his flute and started playing a jolly tune to a song many dwarrows knew from down the Ages. Dori was the first dwarf to start singing, then Ori followed, Balin, Glòin, and soon enough the whole Company sang along in tune. It was a good song, of great battles won and riches found, full of lore and myth. Then Bofur played out the final notes and all was quiet except for the forest around them. Though nobody spoke, it was clear that there was a lighter mood among the Company and they walked with less weight on their shoulders. Bofur smiled and listened to the birds sing in the trees. 

When they were able to walk closer together after a long while, Ori appeared next to him and asked about his repertoire of music and how he could remember all of it. Bofur happily told him that his father taught him most of the songs he knew, but a lot he had learned himself from tavern music and some he made up himself. Ori listened intently and moved his hand in front of him as if he was writing it down. 

“Yer book got lost in the caves, I reckon?” Bofur asked, smiling, and stuck his hands in his pockets. 

“Yes,” Ori said sadly, scrunching his face. “Mutton-headed goblins threw it over the wooden bridges,” he said in a lower voice, full of resent Bofur hadn’t expected from him. “I hope this friend of Gandalf’s has some parchment and ink I could borrow so I can rewrite it all. From the beginning,” he sighed, his shoulders sagging a little beneath his jumper like all his anger fell out of him. 

“I think you’ll get it done in no time! You’d been writing so much up until then, I’m sure yer wrist is stronger than iron to write all that over. If I was the scribe, we would be in quite the trouble since I can hardly remember the start!” Bofur laughed and clapped Ori’s shoulder. “Luckily, we have the best scribe in all of the Ered Luin and beyond.” 

Ori smiled gently but shrugged with half the effort. “Not the best, not really. I had only just got my title three months before we left.” 

Bofur snorted and shook his head. “How many years had ye pined for that silly title?” he asked even though he already knew the answer from Nori. “Seven years. Seven years ye were ready for that title and ye got it by your hard work and determination. That makes a good scribe and a good dwarf, and yer fully both, lad. No, Ori, I think you’ll get your book done just fine. I’ll even volunteer to help ye, if you’d like.” 

The poor boy looked so awestruck and bewildered Bofur had to laugh again. Ori looked ahead to try and come up with the right words, and when he did he stammered and nearly fell over. “Th-Thank you, Bofur, you are too kind, truly, I can’t even thank you enough.” 

Bofur winked. “Ye don’t need to thank me, lad, just think about what I said because I meant it.” 

Ori almost twirled away to go tell Dori about his plans on re-writing the previous logs he had kept and turning it all into a story. 

Dusk began to envelope them in the forest, the bright orange sun gleaming through the trees in columns. Finally, Gandalf stopped them all in a clearing and told them to wait while he went to go speak with his friend. It was a relief to everyone that they were given an opportunity to sit and rest for Gandalf said it would be awhile and they hadn’t stopped all day by the wizard’s behest. Coming from the end of the line of ducklings, Bofur was one of the last into the clearing (Bombur was behind him, he was always last), so he saw Thorin take Bilbo over to a farther edge with a rather serene smile on his face. If Bofur wasn’t mistaken, it looked like their leader was already half besotted with the hobbit. _And all it took for him to realize it was Bilbo putting his life in danger. Oh, dear,_ Bofur thought and pursed his lips in a smile. 

Fíli sat on a wooden log facing a grove of birch trees after a shallow creek down a short incline, and it almost looked like he was waiting for him. Bofur stuck his hands in his pockets and walked past Bombur, who gave him an unsatisfactory look he chose to ignore, and strolled right over to where he sat. Fíli looked up at him from fixing his hair and he gently smiled, saying words he didn’t have to. Bofur sat down and looked across the creek and into the birch grove where he may have seen a horse, but his eyes might have played tricks on him. 

“Do you want me court you, Bofur?” Fíli asked while pulling half his hair back, his clip hanging from his mouth. Bofur would have shaken his head at his and his brother’s similarities if he wasn’t put off-guard by his question. He didn’t get a chance to reply before Fíli continued. “Because I will if that’s what you want to put your mind at ease,” he took the clip from his mouth and pinned it to his hair expertly from many years of practice. He put his hands in his lap and looked at Bofur patiently. 

“If that’s what ye want. I don’t mind either way,” he replied lamely, shrugging. 

“But I’m asking you. Sometimes you seem apprehensive and I just want you to be comfortable,” Fíli said fluidly, and it made Bofur wonder how he could speak so calmly when at times he could practically bounce off walls. 

Bofur furrowed his brows gently, looking his face which gave away his own brand of insecurity. “What have I done that makes ye think that?” he asked honestly and carefully, keeping accusations out of his voice because he was only curious where Fíli had conjured up such ideas. 

“Well,” he shrugged, looking into the grove ahead of them. “I wonder if this isn’t what you want, after I told you that I have a One and it’s not you,” he looked ashamed when he brought his eyes down to his hands. “And I understand why, it’s not your fault. If I was in your place I’d get out of it as fast as I could. I feel like you want someone who’s closer to your age, who’s probably more experienced than I am. If courting you will help alleviate your worries, I’ll do so, even though it’s not necessarily what I wanted to do, but I’ll do it.” 

Bofur watched him the whole time, saw how he wrung his hands together and dug his thumb into the wrappings around his hands that covered the bruises with Bilbo and Òin’s salve, and he could only wonder what had come over him earlier today when now he was so subdued. He admired him for being so honorable, willing to do something he didn’t wish just to appease Bofur’s possible wants.

“Oh, Fíli,” Bofur breathed out a laugh, putting his hand on his jaw, covered in the same wrappings and salve, so he could get him to look at him. “Ye worry too much. Ye have much more doubts than I do, and they all seem to be about what _you_ worry and not me at all,” he smiled reassuringly. “I swear to ye I am worried about none of those things, I swear it on my honor as a Broadbeam and by my trade,” he brought the same hand to his chest like he was taking an oath. “I admit yer One has me a little troubled, but… I’ll have to put my trust in ye, and I don’t do that lightly. It’s a risk I’m willing to take for you. Yer an honest and kind hearted dwarf, Fíli, and ye need not worry about me. I’m mostly taken care of,” he winked. Fíli smiled softly and his brows were upturned in such a sadly sweet way, it made his heart stammer in his chest. Bofur put his hand on the back of Fíli’s neck, weaving it under his thick blanket of hair, and pulled his head to him so he could kiss his temple. Afterward, he put his arm around his shoulders without giving a damn to what anyone else may think behind them. 

Fíli’s head fit soundly beneath his jaw and he leaned into him without resistance. He reached for Bofur’s free hand and opened his palm, tracing his fingers along the bandages and the creases of his hand that were not covered, counting every callous, every scar and scab, and turning his hand over he drew shapes on the soft skin and swirled between his knuckles and tendons. Bofur watched him play with his hand and closed his eyes when Fíli’s fingers snuck up his sleeve. His coat sleeve was wide enough so the tips of his fingers reached halfway up his arm. Bofur shuddered as his cool fingers threaded through the little hairs, his short nails sent shivers through to his shoulder, and he brought his hand out to lay his palm flat against Bofur’s where they curled their fingers together. 

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you too terribly today,” Fíli said with a light chuckle, pleased at the blush that bloomed over Bofur’s cheek in remembrance. His fingers rubbed gently in the meaty part of the top of his hand between thumb and forefinger absently, his eyes flitting over Bofur’s face. 

“You didn’t embarrass me, no, not even close,” he rubbed Fíli’s shoulder, using his thumb of his other hand to stroke the rough knuckles of the prince’s hand. “I just didn’t know what to say to it all. It was a surprise to hear all that coming from _you_.” 

“Pfft,” Fíli snorted. “I am not so innocent.” Then he swallowed like he was going to say more so Bofur kept his mouth closed and listened. “Uhm,” he shifted a little in his grasp nervously, Bofur’s arm falling to hold his waist. “I’ve never been with a man… sexually. Like that. I’ve done things, though, and I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, so I’m not so ignorant. Just thought you should know. I’m not trying to imply or impose, or—or think ahead of what you haven’t yet, and—,” he stopped sputtering and laughed with embarrassment, squeezing his eyes shut. 

It was so charming Bofur had to laugh and kiss his forehead once more. “No, no, it’s alright. I figured. But it’s nothing to worry about, I’m entirely confident in my teaching abilities,” Fíli chuckled. “But nothing will happen unless you want it to on your own accord. It’s entirely your decision.” 

Fíli brought his head up to kiss the underside of his jaw and he offered him a warm smile. “Thank you.” 

“Yer welcome, for absolutely anything,” Bofur insisted, holding Fíli a little tighter. “Oh! I forgot to tell ye…,” and he told all the things he had seen today that happened with the rest of the Company, and he and Fíli speculated such gossip and sniggered like old women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I sort of switched Bofur's dialogue around with 'yer' and 'ye'. Let me know if this suits you better or if you'd like for me to go back to 'you' and 'you're/your' (please, please pleeeease let me know! I'm really conscious of how things are written!) Anyway, drop a comment or a kudos letting me know what you thought of the chapter! Next one's going to be real good, I promise!


	14. Fast Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast Blood - Frightened Rabbit 
> 
> Beorn's is an interesting place to be, with drinking and song and some good lovely times. And the rating changes at last.

To say the least, Fíli was not expecting their host to be a shapeshifter with two daunting forms of man and grizzly. The rest of the Company seemed to be as bewildered as he was. It was especially alarming because looking at his sheer size in his human form, calling himself Beorn with a wide toothy grin, Fíli could have put Bilbo on his shoulders and stood on Kíli’s own and Bilbo’s head would have just reached Beorn’s bushy brows. He was absolutely massive, far too big. He was a strange kindly shapeshifter, but his grizzly form was certainly terrifying. He was thrice the size of a typical grizzly bear, his shoulders just reaching Gandalf’s brimmed hat. 

However intimidating Beorn was, he was friendly enough and his grounds were beautifully kept, full of gardens with fragrant flowers and a grove of the biggest beehives and bees that Fíli had ever seen. There was also a small and slowly moving stream that flowed through the grounds with reeds and croaking frogs and ducks, behind a shed and barn. Beorn mentioned in passing that he kept horses and sheep and goats around that his family of other shapeshifters helped him maintain. Even as they walked through his grounds, Fíli could see the wide eyed looks of some of the residents, some neighing or scampering off when they got too close. They hid themselves away while Beorn brought them into his longhouse for supper. 

While there was no meat, Beorn offered a table laden with bread, berries, fruits, vegetables, butter, cream, comb, mead and enough honey to douse themselves in. It was bountiful enough that everyone was able to eat their fill and all were sated pleasurably by the amount of mead available. The honeyed wine kept flowing into Fíli’s pint and he couldn’t complain one bit. 

The longhouse was warm and spacious even with the absurdly huge furniture, and somehow a dance started up with Beorn’s insistence while he sang an odd sort of song, stomping his foot and clapping his hands the size of hams (Fíli thought). Fíli had his arm looped with Bilbo’s and he spun him around and switched to his next partner, Ori, and they bent their legs together at the knees and twisted (a complicated dwarfish dance, but Fíli wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t remember, but Ori was a little tipsy and clumsy). They spun around each other and did a little more footwork, and then he linked arms with Ori again and then switched to dancing with Kíli. 

Bofur had joined Beorn in the music making by playing along on his flute next to the shapeshifter, kicking his legs and swinging his elbows with his floppy hat even more floppy on his head. Fíli grinned while watching him, clapping with the rest of the dwarves on the floor, and he had to turn his head to keep watching him when he had to follow Nori in the circle. Their eyes met and Bofur winked at him generously before Fíli had to turn his back. 

There was some more fancy footwork and spinning and switching partners but soon the song ended and the dance was finished shortly after. Beorn let out a loud congratulatory cheer and Bofur whooped along with the few other dwarrows that didn’t participate in dancing, only Bifur and Òin, joining the applause enthusiastically. Fíli took a deep formal bow as more of a joke than anything, and Kíli quickly followed him, though he almost fell onto his face. 

More mead was to be drunk and more songs to be sang though the dancing was kept in intervals. Fíli and Kíli hopped up on the mostly cleared table and sang a familiar tavern song from back at the Ered Luin and Beorn was particularly fond of it and asked them to sing it again, this time with Bofur and Nori joining in. It couldn’t have been later than midnight when most of the company had achieved drunkenness, save for Thorin and Balin and most of the elder dwarrows but there was still tinges of color to all their cheeks. 

Once the time came, Beorn had some of his companions show the Company to the available beds placed around the longhouse in various places. There were some open rooms with a grouping of beds and some places around the length of the house where there were wicker screens to areas where some thickly covered cots were. When the desire to sleep weighed down their eyelids, some dwarrows went off to claim a comfy cot somewhere in the house. It was not until much later that Fíli found himself dozing in his cup and Bofur shaking him awake, beckoning him quietly to bed. 

“Your vois, Bofffur,” Fíli said in a heavy slur, nearly tripping over the bench when he hopped off it. Gods, was everything this large before? Or was he just really drunk? He fell sideways into Bofur while trying to figure it out but he was ready to catch him with a hearty laugh. He was definitely pretty hammered, Fíli thought absentmindedly. 

“My voice? Is that what you said? What of it?” Bofur asked him, a fond smile on his face, and Fíli sort of remembered what he was trying to say. 

“I like it. You sssing very well, didja know? I know,” somehow, his head rolled to the other shoulder and he was able to look at Bofur, bleary as his face was. “And it’s verrry good. Ya can sing to me like that any time, if ya catch my drift.” He swung his arm that wasn’t around Bofur’s shoulders to emulate a gust of wind but ended up making them both stumble and stagger. Bofur was almost completely holding Fíli up and he wasn’t exactly halfway sober, either. 

“Woah, careful now!” Bofur laughed, finding his footing and a better hold on Fíli’s waist. He found that a drunk Fíli was rather endearing but he knew the lad would regret tomorrow how much mead he drank. Bofur led him over to a section of four cots surrounded on two sides with wicker screens and a wall of logs of the side of the longhouse, where Kíli and Ori were already sleeping. 

Fíli guffawed, sounding more like a chicken than anything else. “ _Pleazzze_.” 

Bofur held Fíli still while he helped unbuckle his belt, snorting at the shifty eyebrows the blonde gave him with a suggestively messy lopsided smirk. He took off his coat for him and hung it on a nail just above his head on a nearby post, sitting him down on the cot that he wouldn’t take, moving to take off his boots. “Why’re ya doin’ that?” the prince asked, swaying a little when Bofur looked up from his crouching position. His face was striped with the fire light from the sconce on the other side of the wicker screen, and his eyes caught in the striping just right so Fíli could see the lighter brown of his eyes, like coffee and cream. He found himself smiling stupidly while looking at him, drunk and in awe at the absurd beauty the miner held obliviously and Fíli was totally incapable of describing how it felt to behold it in his inebriation. He suddenly didn’t mind how mushy his heart seemed to feel at that moment. 

Bofur smiled, crinkling the thin lines on the edges of his eyes. “Because I’d like to,” he bent his head to briefly lay his mouth on Fíli’s knee in a kiss, effectively emitting a giggle from the prince which made him grin in return. “Let me unlace your boots, hopin’ I don’t stab meself first.” 

Fíli snorted and told him that he would be alright if he was careful, but Bofur explained to him that he was nearly seeing four feet in front of him. Fíli shrugged and said that it wouldn’t be his fault if Bofur poked his finger. The miner took off his boot and swatted his knee gently while setting the boot aside to work on the other one without mishap. Once the second boot was off, Bofur stood and said in a soft and dry voice, “Alright, now lay down ye overgrown dwarfling.” 

“Hah,” Fíli laughed and made a goofy face but did as he asked, pulling the covers over him. “Thank you, Bofur,” he said quietly, concentrating on forming words and how his lips felt so tingly, then he snuggled into the straw and feather stuffed cot. 

Bofur brushed some hair from Fíli’s forehead and kissed it. “Sleep well, my drunken lion prince,” he said with a smile before standing to go over to his own cot nearby to shed his coat and boots and go to sleep himself. 

Fíli awoke late in the morning to the sound of dwarrows laughing and the smell of fresh bread—and a god-awful headache. He moaned and buried his head into the pillow and pulled the blanket up, only to expose his feet to the cooler outside air. He brought his knees up and groaned at his roiling stomach. 

“Oh, Fíli, you’re awake,” said a familiar voice at the foot of his cot. He heard feet padding closer so he risked peeking an eye out. It was Bilbo, coming to sit on the edge of his cot and to put a hand on his hair. “Will you be wanting tea? I brewed some specially for you. Bofur told me right this morning that you’d be needing some.” 

Fíli felt touched and confused by that sentiment. “He did?”

Bilbo nodded with a smile. “Yes, he did. He’s a sweet dwarf, looking out for you like he does. I’ll bring a cup. Would bread and butter settle with you? Bread’s warm and fresh,” he spoke calmly and gently despite the background noises of his dwarf folk, shouting and banging doors and tables, letting his hand smooth over Fíli’s hair in a gesture that was more comforting than he had expected. 

Fíli nodded, steadily feeling a little better. “Thank you, Bilbo.” 

He smiled warmly at him before slipping off the cot and padding away around the screen. 

Fíli brought his face back under the covers and sighed. It seemed like the Company was becoming aware of his relationship to Bofur and likewise, something of sorts, and soon enough it would reach his uncle. It wasn’t as if he would think Thorin likely to disapprove because Bofur was clearly a good match, an honorable, kindhearted dwarf who wished Fíli no hurt, but he may not like how they were choosing to go about it. Thorin was a dwarf who stuck with tradition and the old ways but Fíli also knew him to be incredibly adaptable. He was just entirely unsure of how he would react and that worried him more than it normally would. 

At the moment however, Fíli couldn’t bring himself to care, all he wanted was that tea. Bilbo came around the screen with a plate and a pint, looking a little sheepish as he set them down. “I’d give you a proper cup but there are none to be had,” he said apologetically to Fíli, brushing his hands on his stained overcoat. 

Fíli shrugged and smiled assuredly. “I don’t mind at all. Tea is tea,” he said after sitting up and reaching for the clay pint. He took a sip and cringed at the taste. 

“Sorry about the taste, but bitters help the best with hangovers. It’ll flush out your system in no time at all, I had a cup myself this morning. I could bring some honey? I found that to be helpful,” the hobbit offered, his face too kind. Fíli told him no if it would make him go back to fetch it but Bilbo waved his hand at him and told him not to fret with a look to him that reminded Fíli of his busybody mother. Bilbo would not be satisfied until Fíli was properly taken care of ‘ _and that is that_ ’. “Don’t worry! I’ll go get some.” 

He only had a second to mutter a thank you before the hobbit slipped off again. Fíli reached for the plate of bread and butter on the side table and brought it to his lap, crossing his legs to securely hold it between his knees. He grabbed one of the hunks of bread, flaky and crispy on the outside, but when he took a bite the inside was warm and soft. He looked up from chewing when he heard someone else enter the alcove of beds and saw that it was Bofur, running a sheet through his wet hair. 

Fíli looked up at him and his heart flew out of his mouth. “Yer awake at last, ye sleepy dwarf,” Bofur said with a jolly lilt and a crooked smile. 

He forgot to think for a moment, letting his eyes wander aimlessly except to take in the view of the miner not three paces from him. “Oh, Bofur, your hair is down,” he said airily at last. Removing the sheet from his head, Bofur’s hair hung down to the middle of his broad chest in thick clumps, his fringes running into his eyes and sweeping along his forehead. The bone earring he wore in his left ear stood out against the darkness of his hair and the deep blue hue of his tunic that he wore, lent to him from Beorn’s company so his own clothes could be washed. He stood long and tall despite the baggy tunic and trousers rolled to his calves, and the look on his face expressed his confusion at the captivated look on Fíli’s face, but by all the Valar was he a sight. Fíli smiled just looking at him though he hardly realized it. 

“I took a bath,” Bofur replied lamely, his eyes shifting nervously to his feet.

Bilbo came around the corner then and paused to look in surprise at Bofur. “Your hair’s down!” he said cheerfully and handed Fíli a vial of honey. 

“Do I really look a fright? I just took a bath…,” Oh, bless his heart, he had no idea. Fíli chuckled warmly. 

“Oh, no, not at all, Bofur! You look just fine—and clean!” Bilbo answered while slipping by him and just before turning the corner around the screen he gave Fíli a knowing wink. 

Fíli hadn’t moved much, still holding the vial and the plate of bread in his lap. Bofur looked back at him and made a face like he was still confused with a little tinge of red along his cheekbones. “What do you think? Do I look _clean_?” he held out his arms but let them drop after a second. 

He bit his lip and nodded, trying not to smile like such a fool. “Yes. And… and you look lovely.” 

Bofur’s eyes widened a little and his brows shot up into his hair but there was a small smile there that Fíli could see. Fíli pretended he wasn’t watching him when he reached for his pint, seeing out of the corner of his eye Bofur turning and moving to sit on the cot across from his own, vaguely remembering Kíli sleeping in it. Bofur muttered a shy thank you while he combed through his hair with a wide toothed comb provided from their generous host. Fíli stirred in his honey with a finger and sipped it, looking over the lip of the pint while Bofur gazed back. 

“I mean it,” Fíli said after setting the mug carefully on his knee and holding it with one hand while he ate the bread with the other. 

Bofur nodded. “I know. It’s very kind of ye to say. I’m just unused to such compliments, and coming from you…,” he shrugged and smiled, picking the comb through the knots in his hair. “How’s the tea?”

Fíli scrunched his face a little but took a few more sips despite his distaste. “It’s not bad. It’s helping immensely, though. As I understand, you asked Bilbo to make it for me?” he would never get over how nice that was of him. 

“Aye,” he laughed. “He’s more knowledgeable on healing herbs than I could ever be. Ye could hardly stand on your own two feet last night. I half dragged ye to bed.” 

Fíli laughed along. He hardly remembered walking back but he recalled Bofur taking off his boots. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. I could have crawled back here myself.” 

“Bah. I’ve lived my whole life taking care of my brother, and then later my cousin. It’s in my nature to look after the people I care about,” he said sincerely. “I can’t help it. It’s like asking me not to carve or mine anymore.” 

Fíli flushed a little and he took another bite of bread with melty butter swathing it. After he swallowed, he asked. “Where is the bath? Taking one sounds mighty good to help this headache.” 

“I’ll show ye to them once yer done. It’s actually a spring, it stays warm all year round. Its amazing. Most everybody’s already bathed. Oh, and Beorn is lending us clothes so his little animal friends can wash ours. _Shapeshifters_. Can ye believe it?” The smile on his face was so enthralling Fíli could have looked at him all day. “Nobody of our kind has seen them before, not even Men, maybe the elves. But I can’t believe they’re real! Some horses and sheep served us breakfast while ye were sleeping. It was hilarious, Fíli, I couldn’t help laughing my socks off. It just seemed so strange.” 

Fíli would have bet half his earnings of the treasure that Bofur would have laughed at something so silly and absurd at an inopportune moment. He chuckled, just imagining it. He remembered seeing some of the goat changelings the night previous when he was drunk, and he made noises back at it, trying to speak to it. The goat skittered off out the door and Fíli felt a little bad for scaring it off but quickly forgot about it when an uproaring laughter swept through the longhouse. 

Once Fíli was done eating his light breakfast and drinking the tea, Bofur took his mug and the plate back to the dining and kitchen area for him at the front of the longhouse while Fíli pulled himself out of bed. There was a deep green tunic twice his size and brown trousers, also too big for him, folded neatly by his boots when he swung his feet out from the blankets. Bofur came back and had brought a sheet with him for Fíli to use, and he tilted his head to beckon him to follow. Fíli scooped up the tunic and trousers and stood up cautiously, waiting for his head to protest or his stomach to flip over, but nothing happened so he happily followed Bofur out of the bed section. 

His eyes widened when he saw the longhouse in its entirety without the drunken haze for the second time (the first time he forgot). Everything was massive, hand carved, adorned with snakes and frogs and wolves and elk and all sorts of forest creatures and fauna. Most of the chairs reached just below his chest so he could climb up with little effort, and walking into the dining area, he could see that a few of the Company was eating and swinging their legs, high off the ground. It was almost comical, seeing everyone look so small when everything and everyone always seemed enormous. It was like a giant playhouse, except with the lingering scent of a barn and hay and dusty fur. He said hello in passing to the Company that remained inside before venturing out the wide open doors to the front porch, facing the lawns and gardens of Beorn’s grounds. 

He shielded his eyes but the light wasn’t so bad, he was too busy looking at the array of flowers and plants and the bees that lazily hummed by, drunk on the nectar and pollen. Fíli hooked his elbow with Bofur’s but he didn’t get to see the look of adoration on the miners face, his eyes wandering along with the butterflies that flew high up above. Bofur didn’t mind though, he felt like the luckiest dwarrows on the face of middle-earth to have the prince willing to hold his arm.

He brought Fíli to a smaller long house through the gardens, off somewhat in an emptier area with rocky grounds and a cobbled pathway. Bofur opened the door for him, thick and heavy even for Dwalin, and inside was a border of large cobblestones with enough room for two dwarrows to walk abreast along the walls on three sides, the fourth wall at the end of the house was open to an outside spring. The pool was steaming and cloudy, a thick cloud of fog layering the whole floor and surface of the pool, making the stones slick and greasy. There were slatted windows that allowed in the outside air and the sunlight, showing just how foggy it was inside. 

“That looks bloody appealing,” Fíli said with an excited smile and Bofur chuckled. 

“Feels bloody great, too,” he replied with a small tilt of his head, moving his tunic up on the sides so he could stuff his hands in his trouser pockets. “There’s baskets of tallow soaps and bars and bunch of stuff there,” he took a hand out to point to a few baskets that sat along the left wall. “Some of its scented, but it all smells good.” 

Fíli went to go set his clothes on a bench near the door and just as Bofur was turning to leave, he said, “You can stay if you’d like.” 

He looked at him as if Fíli was offering up the throne of Erebor, sputtering helplessly for a response. Fíli just laughed, deciding that he enjoyed making Bofur blush and embarrassed. “But I don’t want to intrude on yer—yer privacy.” 

“You’re not intruding if I’m asking you to stay,” he replied matter-of-factly while pulling his tunic over his head. 

“A-Alright,” Bofur mumbled but he turned around anyway while Fíli discarded his trousers and small clothes. Only did he turn around when he heard Fíli slip into the water. He went over to sit next to his folded clothes on the log bench, weaving and twiddling his fingers together. 

Fíli groaned, his mouth gaping as the water soothed his muscles and eased out the kinks. “Ohh, this is divine. It seems like an Age since I’ve had a warm bath.”

Bofur sat and watched Fíli swim around the pool, inside and out, talking rather aimlessly about all things in between the earth and sky and Bofur was more than content to listen. Fíli asked him to scrub his back after awhile, in the middle of washing his hair and Bofur quietly obliged, careful of the yellowed and old bruises that littered his skin. He discovered a few scars, and running his fingers over an interesting one, Fíli explained to him how he got it.

“Kíli accidentally shot an arrow in my back years ago during training. It was my fault, I had jumped out just as he was shooting but he wouldn’t talk to me for a week because he felt so ashamed of hurting me,” Fíli said slowly, remembering how much he had bled , and how Kíli was so scared that he had killed him because he bled like a pig. 

“He’s a good shot,” Bofur said with a guffaw and continued washing his back. 

Fíli scrubbed both arms and under them, all down his front and all through his groin, and for some reason he thought it would be a good idea to lift his leg out of the water to scrub. The floor of the spring was entirely natural so it was layered unevenly in stones of various sizes and sand in some places, but he was standing on a slippery rock so when he fell backwards it made Bofur laugh hysterically, watching him flap his arms to regain his footing. Fíli came up sputtering water and he laughed along because he remembered the bar of soap slipping out of his hand and hitting the ceiling, but also because he could have imagined the sight. He opted to sit down and wash his legs and feet that way. 

Once he was finished washing, he climbed out of the water laughing because Bofur covered his eyes with his hand. He picked up the sheet near the spring’s edge and dried himself off and ran it through his hair, purposefully walking over to his folded clothes next to Bofur entirely naked for fun just in case he was looking through his fingers. “I’m changing now, you bashful dwarf,” he said with a snigger while he pulled his trousers on and pulled on the laces to tighten them around his waist as much as possible. 

“I’m being _polite_ ,” Bofur insisted helplessly, and as soon as he took his hand away, Fíli was in front of his face, pulling his head up by his chin to kiss him. 

“I know, and it’s very sweet of you,” Fíli said just inches from his mouth and smiled before standing and pulling his borrowed tunic over his head. 

Luckily he had tightened the trousers because otherwise they would have slipped right off his bum when he crouched to gather his other clothes (not that it would have been a huge problem, no, definitely not). Bofur told him where he and the others were told to put their clothes to be washed, right outside the wash house next to the barn and the longhouse, but he ended up walking him there anyway. Fíli set his clothes down on the bench and spun and put his hands on his hips, gifting Bofur with a rather marvelous sight of his unbraided and mostly untamed and unbound hair swing about his neck and shoulders. 

“Care to walk with me around the grounds?” he asked with a tilt to his head, oblivious to how stunning he really looked. 

Bofur put his hand to his heart and bowed. “It would be my pleasure, my prince.” 

Fíli squinted his eyes at the formality he used but linked elbows with him anyway. “You don’t have to call me prince, you know. You sort of threw that out the window when you decided to vaguely pursue me.” 

Bofur made a face at that. “Ye would still be a prince even if I didn’t.”

“I know, but it doesn’t settle well with me when you use it. I don’t want you to feel like I am unattainable to you by our folk’s standards, because that’s not applicable and nor is it true. Because as you can see, I am more than willing to stand alongside you and hold your arm,” Fíli gently smiled, nudging Bofur a little bit to reassure him and to emphasize his point. “You can use any other silly names you come up with, even lad, but not prince, not from you.” 

Bofur pursed his lips in thought, succumbing to his wish. “Alright, if ye say so. Even if it is yer formal title,” he smiled cheekily when Fíli eyed him hard. He then leaned down to rub his mustache near to Fíli’s ear, making him laugh and shoulder him away. 

There were hundreds of different plants and flowers in the gardens surrounding most of Beorn’s property, all wonderfully kept and weeded. They turned a corner along a grassy path and saw a girl elbow deep in the cabbages, dirt smeared across her cheeks and nose. She looked at them through mousy hair, wide eyed for a long moment before pointedly getting back to her work, turning just a little away but she didn’t transform or scamper off like most had done. Fíli and Bofur chose to ignore her space and wander toward the apple trees. 

They debated for a good ten minutes whether it would be a good idea or not to eat an apple off one of the trees. “I don’t know, I feel like he might throw a fit and bite our heads off. You know what he said about what’ll happen if we damage anything,” Fíli countered, even though an apple sounded mighty delicious. They were perfectly mottled pink and yellow, ripe, round and still damp with the morning dew. 

“But it’s an apple, for Durin’s beard. If we eat it quietly, and cover our tracks, I think we’ll be fine,” Bofur then reached up for the exact apple Fíli had been drooling after, pulling it off with a sweet _snap_ of the stem. “It’s not like he counts every apple on every damn tree,” he tossed it up into the air and caught it in his palm, then took a juicy bite and winked.

They went through the apple orchard, only three large trees at most, and passed a few peach trees before they found a suitable spot away from the longhouse, secluded by flowers and bushes. It was a spot of the forest where the trees grew tall and the grass was soft, canopied by large green leaves far above but sunlight still leaked through, giving the clearing a soft green glow. They lounged at the feet of one of the thick beech trees, passing the apple bite for bite until Fíli took a large bite and kissed Bofur with puckered and sticky sweet lips. The apple was soon bitten down to the core and all that was left was the seeds and hard bits, so Fíli leaped up and threw it as far as he could, making some of the birds in the trees chatter in protest. 

He fell down into the grass next to Bofur with a laughing flourish, his hair fanning out behind his head through the blades of grass, grinning. Bofur rolled onto his side and reached over to swipe his thumb just below the corner of his mouth where his beard didn’t grow to clean the juices off. Bofur looked at him, so beautiful sprawled in the grass below the trees, the sun spotting his hair and the too loose neck of his tunic showing a sliver of his broad chest, revealing coarse honey brown hair. He wanted to savor this, to keep in his memories to recall for later days. For once he felt at ease and relaxed, simply content to have such a dwarf at his side. Bofur would never believe his luck for a hundred years that Fíli would be so happy to have him. 

His fingers brushed along Fíli’s jaw, marveling in how his stubble seemed to _shh_ against his skin and he swallowed while twirling one of his mustache braids between his fingers. He was entirely oblivious to Fíli’s livid eyes watching him, how he made his skin shiver and burn at his touch. Bofur watched silently as the apple in Fíli’s throat shifted beneath his skin when he swallowed, how his collarbone moved when he raised his nearest arm to put his hand to the back of Bofur’s head. He was too enthralled with how his body moved and how he felt beneath his hands to feel Fíli’s fingers weaving through his hair and threading it between his fingers. He traced his finger along the edge of the prince’s ear, discovering how his lobe connected to the curve of his jaw. Fíli buried his fingers deeper and loosely grasped his neck, reaching with his other hand to pleadingly pull on Bofur’s tunic to pull him forward and down to kiss him imploringly. 

There were no words that needed to be spoken then to how much they had yearned for each other or how much it meant. The way Bofur kissed Fíli was enough testament, soft and tender and yet so full and eager, his hands deft and precise as if he was mining precious jewels while they lingered across his skin. Fíli drew into him and swam in the watery sensations that turned his limbs to dough, kissing him back with just as much besotted need. A fleeting thought passed his mind that no one had taken such time and reverence to _show_ him what they felt. Bofur took such time, slow and assured, feeling no need for rush. It was boggling to Fíli how good it felt, a knot welling in his stomach at his revelation. Then he felt all at once like he was new to such touches because the knot was nothing like he had known. It was so vastly different and new that he was almost afraid. He was finding his hands were nearly shaking on Bofur’s shoulders. 

Then the miner pulled away from his mouth for a second, his breath cold over the dampness of his lips. “Can I put my hands under?” he half whispered against his lips, then Fíli came to his body again and noticed how his fingers grazed his skin just above his trousers where his tunic had ridden up. 

_Under_? Under his tunic? On his stomach, his ribs, his chest? Oh, did he want that more than anything at the moment, it sounded heavenly to have his hands on his skin in such places. He let his fear settle at the back of his mind where it slowly faded away, too intent on just the thoughts racing through his head. “ _Yes_ , do that,” he replied enthusiastically, looking up at him with sudden widened eyes filled with want. 

When Bofur slowly slipped his hands underneath his tunic, Fíli shuddered. He laid his palms flat against the smooth planes of his belly, pushing them upwards with his tunic to graze his ribs. When Fíli exhaled slowly and shakily, he could feel his muscles bunch beneath his hands. If that wasn’t enough to trade his sanity to endlessly marvel over, Bofur didn’t know what was. The prince arched his back so wonderfully when Bofur spread his fingers and curved down his waist to hold steadfast, and in doing so, he nudged his hardened groin against Bofur’s inner thigh. He fell flat suddenly, their eyes meeting, and Fíli closed his eyes and wished for a moment that a hole would swallow him up.

“That’s good. Very good, actually,” Bofur laughed airily, sending Fíli’s heart reeling, but his smile was so comforting it didn’t even matter that he was heedlessly turned on by all of it. 

He bit his lip (more arousing than he knew) and moved his hips again at the right angle so their inexplicably tighter trousers could press together at the precise spot. Bofur’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment when he sighed softly. Just that look on his face made Fíli feel a whole lot better just knowing that Bofur felt the same way too, and that he could get him to look so pleased. He put his hands on Bofur’s hips, discovering that he was slightly narrower than him, and he slid his hands up his sides and over his ribs, and then used his finger tips to trace over his stomach. He was slenderer than most dwarrows, at least the ones Fíli knew, but he was no less endowed with their strength, compact like the earth. 

“Fíli,” Bofur breathed, his breath tickling his cheek, just inches from his face. “Fíli, you’ll make me forget myself,” he teased, his own fingers now smoothing down the length of Fíli’s sides. 

“Forget yourself then. Remember that I am here,” he replied immediately with a husky voice, pulling Bofur’s hips down so he nigh lied on top of him between his legs, their erections pressed together in such a way that the miner groaned, dropping his head to Fíli’s shoulder. One of Bofur’s hands tangled in his tunic and the other found its way into his hair. “Tell me what it feels like.” 

Bofur lifted his head, still in complete disbelief of his pleasure and unsure of what exactly Fíli had said. “What it feels like?” he questioned, and then as soon as the words left his mouth he understood his meaning. 

At first he was going to do just as he asked, simply tell him what it felt like while he ravaged Fíli’s exposed body, but then a wicked thought crossed his mind that he couldn’t rightly ignore. He smirked and adjusted himself like he normally would, his knees firmly on the ground and his upper thighs and hips pressed just right on Fíli’s backside. “Aye,” his whispered in a deep guttural tone into his ear. “I’ll tell you.” 

The realization on Fíli’s face was enough to really erase his doubts and send an extra pang of arousal through his gut. “After you’ve been prepared, oiled and stretched and all good things in between, you’ll be wanting and aching so bad for a cock you’d think you’d been driven half mad,” Bofur intoned slowly with a rumble to his throat, his lips moving fluidly against Fíli’s cheek. The prince held tighter onto him, breathing heavier into his ear with each passing word and clutching his tunic over his back. Fíli could feel his hardness press into him, from his stones to the core of his arse, and he was almost embarrassed that his own erection was flush against Bofur’s lower stomach but he didn’t seem to mind at all, and in fact Fíli found it ridiculously arousing. His mouth watered and his throat clenched in a strangled sigh, absorbing just how it felt to have Bofur there since he never had before, not so _close_. 

“You’ll feel a hot iron coil tighten in your belly, waiting for it, waiting to feel yer head spin in so much pleasure ye can hardly stand it, and by then yer cock will be weeping for release. Of course ye would have to say please first,” Bofur pressed heavy open mouthed kisses along the column of Fíli’s neck, dragging the flat side of his teeth gently in some places. Fíli tilted his head with a soft sigh of Bofur’s name, and only then did he feel like it would actually be _him_ giving himself to the prince and giving him what he was describing. The heat that swallowed his cock was nothing to the fires the wargs had faced. “Carefully, slowly, I would press in, watching a new day dawn on yer face. So smooth, you’ll feel yourself being nearly cleaved in two but it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before, feeling so full.” 

Bofur heaved his hips just a little, only enough to make Fíli shift an inch upwards but he emitted a sharp cry of surprise from him but no less full of amazement. “Oh!” Fíli gasped, pulling further at Bofur’s tunic and furrowing his brows. Bofur reached behind him to grasp the back of Fíli’s knee, bending it just enough to hold onto. 

He heaved again, much gentler than what would actually happen, his hair falling off his shoulders to mingle with the gold of Fíli’s hair upon the ground. “Stars burst behind yer eyes, the iron coil twists and sparks ignite all down yer legs to yer toes and down yer arms to yer fingers. I’ll find an angle that’s just right and you’ll feel a part of yourself burst like you’ve never imagined. It’s the best you’ve ever felt. Nothing before is exactly like it. Yer thighs will tighten,” they did, clutching his hips. “Yer cock will ache,” Fíli groaned and rolled his hips perfectly to give Bofur pause in his movements and he remembered his own erection for a moment, doing exactly as he said. “Then, suddenly, yer orgasm comes upon you and it lasts for minutes, spending yerself until you’re empty.” 

Then, unexpectedly, Fíli started unlacing Bofur’s trousers wildly like he couldn’t wait anymore, panting and looking into his face expressing exactly what Bofur felt too. He went to work on Fíli’s trouser laces, their mouths coming together in a frenzy and his fingers had half a mind of their own in anticipation and desire and a dozen other things. Then their cocks were free and hard and pressed together in Fíli’s spit-slicked hand and Bofur half cried into Fíli’s shoulder. 

Oh, no, this was too good, it wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening, but when he felt Fíli’s thumb slip over the head of his cock along the slit he knew it was. He knew what it felt like to have his little death approach him, the tingles emerge in his deepest places, the stars behind his eyes. And _Fíli_ , oh, gods be good, _him_ , it was _him_ , and he felt him so close, so tight, so hard and hot, his breath in his ear, his lips on his skin, his hair in his hands at last. 

Fíli rutted against Bofur with their cocks in his hand between their bellies, groaning, “Bofur, oh, _please_ ,” and they fell into a rhythm that soon threw them both careening and gasping and writhing. They came apart together, Fíli arching his back with his free hand fisted above him and kneading into the grass, and Bofur nearly biting into his shoulder with his hands clenched tight around the prince’s waist emitting a rather loud moan that Fíli dueted. 

It was long moments before they fell lax and limp against each other and in Fíli’s hand, sticky and coated in sweat and seed. Bofur panted heavily and slowly rolled off Fíli so he could lie in the grass, sinking into the earth like water. The both of them stared at the canopy of leaves languidly, still roiling in the warmth that flowed through their bodies. Fíli wiped his hand in the grass and ignored the rest on his belly for the time being, smiling dazedly upwards and in utter disbelief. 

Bofur propped himself on his side and nuzzled his nose into Fíli’s jaw and cheek, something he found as a rather intimate gesture from him, and also his method for getting his attention to get a kiss. Fíli smiled and rolled halfway to face him, putting a hand on his cheek and kissing him as deeply as he wished. 

As they didn’t have a cloth with them and using their tunics would leave obvious marks once dried, so Bofur used his hand to wipe off what was left on Fíli’s stomach and then into the grass. He then carefully tucked Fíli back into his trousers and laced him up before tending to himself. Fíli let him do it, somehow enjoying it rather immensely. Bofur then brought his head back to brush his nose against Fíli’s, smiling softly, and his eyes were unusually bright and tender, different than his normal carefree and aloof look he bore about himself. 

“What am I going to do with ye,” Bofur stated, making Fíli grin. 

“Sell me to a caravan,” Fíli japed, twisting his fingers into the hair in front of his ears, tickling his sideburns and making his earring dance. 

Bofur chuckled deeply, pulling Fíli closer to him by his waist. He happily obliged. “Ah, ye would fetch a fair price. I’ll ask Glòin for recommendations,” Fíli laughed and made his head comfortable on his chest. 

Bofur melted against him, knowing just how much trouble he had got himself into by falling arse over teakettle in love with the eldest Durin prince. But, at the moment, he was content enough to not give a wargs arse about it, and decided that it was alright to be in love with him because he was. He well and truly was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented! I really enjoy reading all what you have to say, really! Let me know what you think of this smutty chapter, eh? ;)


	15. Animal Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Animal Tracks - Mountain Man (Its so lovely, it's almost like a lullaby. Gorgeous). 
> 
> Some fluff and Bombur remains the voice of reason for his freeminded older brother. And Fili can sing rather... interestingly.

Fíli stirred awake in the middle of a peaceful dream but opening his eyes to see the soft rise and fall of his favorite miner’s chest, he couldn’t be bothered. He smiled sleepily and stretched, curling against Bofur’s side, and sighing he craned his head so he could look upon his face. His mouth was slightly parted and he snored very softly, it was almost inaudible, and his lashes fell in wisps against his cheekbones. 

Gently, Fíli raised a finger to trace the wrinkles on the edges of his eyes, faint while he slept. He brought his finger down the bridge his nose, around his nostril to where his mustache sat beneath, and he smoothed it down and curled his finger and thumb around the flipped end. His eyes swallowed him up all the while, content to just have him here and to be so close to him. He was impossibly beautiful while he slept and Fíli’s heart reached out to him from behind his ribcage and fluttered like a bird, similar to how his Longing felt ages ago. Only that this wasn’t painful like his heart was a mace, it filled Fíli’s body with glittering warmth like crystals in deep caves, and also like he was eating a particularly delicious honeycake or a pint of Beorn’s mead. Fíli smiled when Bofur’s nose twitched in an adorable way when he sniffed. He kissed his nose for good measure. 

“You make my heart swim,” Fíli whispered behind his breath, moving to kiss his cheek, feather light. “It sings like the chickadees when you’re near,” he said with a smile, the birds above in the trees making wonderful music. 

He brushed some hair out from his forehead and planted his lips firmly but chastely just above his brow, and not a second later he felt his brows furrow beneath. There was a quiet moan in Bofur’s throat and his body tensed as he woke, stretching his arms and legs. “Hullo,” he said in a thick voice from sleep and he smiled crookedly at Fíli, his hand rising to wrap around his waist lazily. 

“Hello, you,” Fíli said affectionately, his fingers moving like silk across his jaw. “I watched you while you slept.”

“Oh?” Bofur’s brows rose into his hair, his fringes having sprung back stubbornly to curl back against his forehead. “Did I speak any nonsense? Bombur tells me I do sometimes.” 

Fíli chuckled warmly. “No, but now I’d like to see it.” They laughed. “I was just admiring you and thinking about how lucky I am to have such a lovely dwarf practically show me how it feels to have another man.” 

Bofur growled low in his chest and pulled Fíli closer. “Don’t get me started,” he kissed his jaw where it mashed against his chin, pecking clumsy kisses over his cheek. “That’s not even half the things I’d do to ye, my sweet little lion,” he mumbled against his skin, making Fíli giggle at the tickle of his mustache. 

“Is that so? Remember I told you I had tricks up my sleeve? Aye, I still intend to show you! It might knock your socks off,” Fíli teased succinctly when he pulled his head back, bundled up on Bofur’s chest in his strong arms and hardly able to move much. 

A sly, mischievous smirk curled at the corner of Bofur’s mouth. “Well, consider me excited.” 

“Good,” Fíli said smugly and pulled himself out of his grip to sit up in the grass. He put his elbows on his bent knees and sighed, looking out at the grassy grove rolling before them, then looked back over his shoulder at Bofur with a relaxed sort of smile. Bofur pulled himself up to sit next to him and they sat quietly for awhile, listening to the forest sing on around them. The tree leaves faded from a bright summery green to an orange glow from the lowering sun on the horizon and crickets and frogs started joining the chorus. 

“I don’t want to go back, but I think it’s nearly time for supper,” Bofur said with a heavy sigh. “Bombur is adamant about eating nigh when sun sets.” 

He stood and took Fíli’s hand to pull him up, only to wrap his arms tightly around his waist and claim his mouth so deeply and unexpectedly, Fíli’s knees would have bent if Bofur wasn’t so sturdy against him. Fíli weaved his arms around his neck and held him closer still, melting into him wholly. Bofur tentatively took Fíli’s bottom lip in between his teeth and tugged, only to suckle on it and swipe his tongue across it. It sent shivers whizzing down Fíli’s spine and he pressed his chest into his and sighed softly. As soon as he released his lip Fíli darted his tongue back into his mouth in a last, slow kiss that sent them both careening with shortened breath. 

“I could kiss you all day if it provided sustenance,” Fíli said with a heavy voice while he caught his breath, his eyes livid looking into Bofur’s. Then he suddenly remembered the night before how his eyes looked like coffee and cream through the wicker weaves. His heart blossomed another layer of petals like an endless lotus, knowing that he would always find things about Bofur to marvel over. 

Bofur bit his own lip and grinned, seeming at a loss of words to respond. So instead he tipped his head to kiss Fíli once more in his answer and took his hand while they walked out of the grove to the apple trees.

They walked together through the gardens and dodged the giant fuzzy bees with broad grins. Out on the front porch sat Bombur eating supper while the others were seemingly inside, going by the loud voices singing from within the longhouse. Bofur regrettably let go of Fíli’s hand when they started getting closer to the porch because he could almost feel Bombur’s glare on him. 

Bofur stopped next to Fíli just in front of the door and told him, “You go inside and eat. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Fíli seemed unperturbed by this, giving him a smile before nodding his head and going inside to join the others in the ruckus for supper. Bofur rubbed his brows before turning around and walking over slowly to the other side of the porch where his brother sat in an overlarge wooden rocking chair. Bombur simply followed him with his deep brown eyes while he ate honeyed bread and berries from the bowl in his lap. 

It was a minute before either brother spoke, Bofur patiently waiting for his younger sibling to scold him and Bombur waiting for a lackluster retort. Bofur crossed his arms loosely while he leaned against the porch railing, tilting his head a little. 

“You almost look smaller in that chair. I never thought it possible,” he said without humor, not at all pleased by the flat glares Bombur was giving him. “I don’t appreciate you telling me what I can and cannot do, Bombur. Or giving me disapproving looks. Say your piece and be done with it.” 

Bombur finished his slice of bread indulgently before replying. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do in regards to the prince. You have never done well when I told you to do something,” he popped a blueberry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m only worried.” 

Bofur snorted. “Right. You’re worried I might hurt him, or the other way around? Or what is it?” he asked steadily, annoyed, but not yet angry. He and Bombur both were very slow to anger so their arguments were often smooth, but no less aggravating. Luckily neither of them inherited their father’s readiness to assume conclusions or his hastiness and temper, but get either of them riled up sufficently and one would be in for it. 

Bombur sighed. “I don’t know. I hope you haven’t forgotten what lies at the end of this quest, brother. I hope your eyes remain unclouded if they haven’t been veiled already. I envy your serendipity, Bofur, but you can’t forget there is a dragon and there is death to be had if any one of us is unlucky,” Bofur hung his head, closing his eyes while his heart clenched in a cold tight girdle. Bombur continued. “And _anybody_ could be unlucky. You, me, Bifur—anyone. I just don’t want you to invest yourself too deeply into this, with Fíli.” 

“Why? I know the risks, Bombur, I do, and I know them well. If there is a dragon at the end, which is uncertain to the portents Òin claims, then why deny happiness before the long night comes? Would you rather wish I wallow in regret and lose all chances to finally find a measure of peace?” Bofur’s voice was soft, imploring, and Bombur couldn’t help but see his sense, and his heart. 

“You know that is not what I want for you,” Bombur held onto the bowl of berries while he slid off the rocking chair. He waddled over to stand next to Bofur by the railing where it reached just below their chins. He put the bowl on top of the rail and sighed, looking at Bofur gently and sagging his shoulders. “You deserve happiness more than most, after being through what you have, losing your wife. I couldn’t imaging losing Bírna like that and continuing with life, not for even a decade,” he offered him a smile after looking far off into the gardens, pausing with the dark thought of losing his One. “Fíli is a good lad. He treats Bifur with a kindness few have shown him, and others for that matter. He has honor and knowledge though he can be quite rowdy with his brother, but who am I to judge? I do like him, Bofur, really. I only wish he would talk to me sometime, if he plans on stealing my big brother away,” he winked, then put a gentle hand on Bofur’s crossed arms. “And he’s also a prince, not that that should matter. How could I tell you no if he makes you look so happy? I never thought us Broadbeams would rise so high!” 

Bofur chuckled along with his brother, maybe blushing a little. “Aye, me either,” he shrugged uselessly. “but so it is. Thank you, Bombur, I needed to hear that from you. You have always been right, you know. Don’t look at me like that, you smug bastard,” Bofur elbowed him playfully though he might as well have elbowed dough for all it did. “He is kind to me beyond words. I don’t quite understand it as well as I should. Young though he is, he has a good head on his shoulders and a wiseness to him beyond his years… you needn’t worry about me, Bombur. Nor him either because you better bet your prized recipes that I’ll treat him well,” Bofur joked and smiled fondly and put a hand on one of Bombur’s sloping shoulders. He smiled in return and nodded his head in acceptance. 

“I give my good blessings to you both. If you talk to Bifur he’ll say the same thing though maybe more jumbled. Well, that’s for another day, eh? Come, there is much pies and mead to be had inside I think you’ll quite enjoy. I waited out here for you two to come back to this world,” Bombur took the bowl of berries again and ushered Bofur inside while they both laughed. 

\--

Ori decided to accept Bofur’s volunteer invitation to help him document everyone’s account of the adventure thus far. The shapeshifters under Beorn’s care were able to dig up an old pile of parchment from the cellars and ink that had to be rehydrated but no quill. Ori was able to fashion a suitable quill with a goose feather and a flimsy metal shard to use as a nib, and that worked well enough for him to write though the sound it made was awful on the parchment. 

Bofur mostly asked the questions, retaining the information with his fairly alright memory to help Ori recall later. Sometimes his questions were off topic and rather raucous at times, stupidly suggestive or just plain flat and boring. Ori chided him when he asked unrelated questions but otherwise he wrote down good and thorough notes of everyone’s story to eventually blend them all together to create a well-rounded epic with all insights and opinions mostly included. They spent a whole day going around and listening to eleven different accounts but all related to some extent, some shorter and some longer than others. The next day they started putting it together into an outline until Bofur caught Ori sketching a beautiful doodle that turned out to be Dwalin. 

The poor lad turned so red Bofur was afraid for a second that he might fly off like one of Gandalf’s whizzpoppers and explode. “No, it’s alright, lad! No, I won’t tell him, yes I promise! No need to be embarrassed. If you were me, it would be doubly as silly.” 

“What do you mean? Are you talking about Fíli?” Ori asked tentatively, finally pulling away his ink-stained fingers from the page, ignoring the little smears he created. 

Bofur furrowed his brows, confused at how he could deduce his meaning so easily. “Yes… how did you know I was such an idiot before he finally realized?”

Ori laughed, if a little nervously. “Well, Kíli sort of told me it was you who set up his saddle and watched him. Everyone was curious who was doing it every morning, you know, they all whispered about it waiting to see who it was. Nori told me he knew it was you from the start, because, because you have been such good friends for—for a long time, you know. Don’t hate me, please, Kíli has a big fat mouth he lets flap all the time and I didn’t ask him to tell me he just did please don’t hate me Bofur I really thought it was rather sweet and I didn’t say anything to spread the rumors or nothing I just thought it was nice and all and—,” Ori stopped himself and slapped a hand to his face but Bofur started laughing loudly, holding onto his sides while he hat fell over his forehead. 

“Ori, lad! No worries! But that is a nice thing to know. I had no idea half the Company was watchin’ over me shoulders practically the whole time! I’m not as smooth as I used to be, I’ll tell you that! In any case, I have an idea for you that you might like, seeing how wonderfully you draw, and, well, your not-so-secret fancy for the guardsman…,” Bofur went to explain his idea to Ori, suggesting he draw portraits to put into the epic. The scribe was flustered and halfway opposed to it until Bofur told him he would have unprecedented time alone with Dwalin, and Dwalin was never one to deny a small request if asked nicely (Bofur had no idea, it was just to get Ori to go along with it. He also didn’t mention that his older brother had an ‘understanding’ with the guardsman a few decades ago, but he heard it from Nori himself that he was done with law abiding guardsmen, so that could only mean that they were no longer understanding of each other. At least Bofur hoped). 

Ori decided that he would do it but only if he drew a few others first so it wouldn’t be suspicious and creepy if he asked Dwalin from the start. Bofur said it was a great idea with an encouraging smile and a hearty slap to the back before he drifted off to find Fíli. He felt a strange sense of accomplishment and fulfillment in being a matchmaker of sorts, and he wished Ori all the luck in the world. 

Bofur and Ori had a made a far off corner of the longhouse thiers while they took stories a few accounts, so he hadn’t been outside since yesterday and he hadn’t seen neither wisp nor hair of Fíli since before bed last night, and just now the sun was getting low in the sky. He stood out on the porch and stretched, the sun streaming into the front doors of the longhouse and it warmed his skin rather pleasantly. There was a commotion in the barn far to his left across a large vegetable patch and an old tall tree. He decided that he would go check there first before going to the bath house since it was on the way there anyhow. 

Approaching the barn, his hands in his loose trouser pockets and his hat warm on his head, he furrowed his brows when he heard quite the chorus of squawking and clucking and snorting with loud dwarfish shouts. Just as he got within ten paces of the barn’s front door, three large white ducks flapped out through the small opening with Kíli chasing after them. 

“No! Please, I need your feathers! Don’t be like this, you stupid ducks!” he whined, looking quite the sight with hay in his hair and his arms outstretched to catch a duck that always seemed to run a little faster. When he heard Bofur laughing heartily he gave up on the ducks and groaned, scrubbing his dirty hands over his face. “They keep running!” he explained passionately. 

“I would be too if a dwarf were plucking my feathers,” Bofur replied lightly, hardly able to keep the smile off his face. 

“But I need them for arrows! Since we can’t hunt any actual birds within a hundred leagues of here, ducks and geese will have to do—,” 

“Kíli! Kíli, I got some!” A voice shouted from inside the barn and the youngest Durin’s face lit up before he bolted inside. Bofur followed sauntering, still laughing. 

It was Fíli, triumphantly holding up two good sized tail feathers while the offended duck reared its wings and pecked at his feet, making him hop away with the feathers and a wide grin. Kíli shooed the duck away and slapped his brother’s hand in a high-five. It was all they had gotten today and these two feathers would make four decent arrows, though not nearly as swift if Kíli was able to catch a few sparrows or finches, even. 

“Oh, Bofur! There you are!” Fíli said with a broad smile and waved him over. “Can you catch ducks? We’re making arrows for Kíli and we need more feathers.” 

Bofur didn’t fail to notice how Fíli’s eyes sparkled, or how lovely he looked in the lamplight of the barn, his hair yellow and his skin like warm honey. “I can try, certainly! I’m not so sure how they’ll take to being caught anymore today.” 

Bofur turned and counting five more ducks able to lose a few more feathers though they all watched him warily. He walked towards one while it quacked and started waddling away, but before it could get too far he took a few quick steps and scooped it up. He held onto it with one arm and in such a way the wings wouldn’t hit his face while it struggled and cried out, but he plucked a few feathers as quick as he could before letting it loose. 

Kíli was still chasing another duck around the horse and pig pens but Fíli had went to measuring the two feathers he had got to cut, so he had seen the swiftness of Bofur’s catch. Bofur wagged the three feathers he obtained with a cocky grin, making Fíli smile and shake his head. “Yeah, and you thought you couldn’t do it,” Fíli quipped when Bofur set the feathers down in front of him on the barrel Fíli was using. 

“I’ve caught ducks before, me and Nori used to make it a game when we were bored. But these ducks have been getting chased all day by you two,” Bofur shrugged an sat down on an upturned crate, looking around their workstation and the barn, some chickens nearby clucking in their coop that also opened up to the outside, showing now the sun had gone and left in her wake a pale indigo sky that faded to a deep blue. 

“Not all day. We made four arrows from the feathers we got yesterday. And we had to go searching for wood and tools and oil. We don’t know what we’re going to do about the arrow heads, but Thorin might know what to do,” he sighed heavily, using a knife of his to cut the feather he measured using his hand and another finished arrow shaft as approximation. “We’ll probably have to scrounge around for scrap metal.” 

“Damn it!” Kíli shouted from the other side of the barn. “It bit me!” Fíli and Bofur chuckled while Kíli trudged back over, rubbing his abused fingers. “I am done with these ducks for today.” 

“I think they’re more done with you,” Bofur commented, Fíli chuckling in agreement. 

“All’s well, then!” Kíli huffed, sitting down in front of a handmade machine by the two dwarrows. Bofur asked them what it was and Kíli explained to him that it spun a shaft so it could be sanded down into a round shape. He demonstrated by turning a crude crank on either side so the cloth on the far edges twisted taut and tight. He put a fairly straight stick of maple wood in the center in two notches to hold it in place, and when the released the cranks the cloth unwound rapidly so Kíli could drag a strip of sandpaper along it to smooth it into a nice cylindrical shape. 

Bofur raised his eyebrows, quite impressed they knew how to make such a thing with limited materials. “So you knew how these machines were supposed to work or did you just make it up?” Bofur asked curiously, watching Kíli twist the cranks again with interest. 

“Yeah, we had better ones back at the Ered Luin, obviously, but Kíli’s going to need arrows if we’re going to need to hunt or kill anything in Mirkwood. If we’re really going into it, that is,” Fíli explained with a hint of dread. Thorin and Balin briefly mentioned it at supper the other night while Beorn was away with Gandalf’s help in reasoning as a possible idea, but it was very likely they were going to go through it since it was a very large forest and it would be foolish to go around it. Erebor was very close to the borders of Mirkwood in relative distance though there were substantial leagues in between nonetheless. 

“I’m not going into Mirkwood without a quiver full of arrows. Not if the stories are to be believed, especially Radagast’s account. Stories you’ve told, Bofur,” Kíli said with a knowing look, smiling. 

“Nor do I intend to tell them again, lest you want to have night terrors for I will tell them to you doubly as terrifying,” Bofur teased, making Kíli roll his eyes. Fíli had told him that some of his stories kept Kíli awake when they were dwarflings and he would have to sleep with Fíli those nights. 

“You should be nice to me, I have almost as much weight as Thorin in approving relationships,” Kíli said with an off-putting smile that gave Bofur pause. 

Fíli gave his brother a sharp glare before he said to Bofur flatly, “He’s kidding.” 

Kíli only smiled sweetly in response and didn’t deny Fíli’s claim, but Bofur still took him seriously because he absolutely did have weight in it. He knew Kíli was not threatening, however, because they got along well enough, but _still_. Bofur kept his mouth shut. He quietly watched the two Durin princes work, listening to them go back on forth on cutting the feathers and proper length and technique, full of harmless jabs and teases. 

It took Kíli a few hours to sand a shaft down enough to where it pleased him, having to run his hand along it and hold it just in front of his eye for any misshaping. Kíli left to go find another strip of sandpaper in Beorn’s workshop attached to the longhouse, giving Fíli and Bofur a suggestive wink before slipping out the barn door. Fíli rolled his eyes and groaned and Bofur only chuckled. 

“So what have you been doing these past few days? Keeping busy, I hope? Fíli asked, trimming the feathers carefully and evenly, looking up at Bofur in intervals. 

“Aye, mostly. I’ve been helping Ori get the story straight from everyone since his book was lost in the goblin caves,” Bofur replied with a tired sigh, itching for a smoke. If only Beorn had pipeweed lying about. 

“Ah, that’s right. You two talked to Kíli and I after we gathered sticks the other day,” Fíli nodded in remembrance, pursing his lips to get the feather cut just right, while getting his knife lodged in the wood of the barrel. He yanked it out and evened the feather out to his satisfaction, then he set the prepared fletching aside and stopped to smile softly at Bofur. The miner looked up from where he was picking the pinprick scabs off his palms and almost seemed to melt away when he saw Fíli was watching him. 

“What is it?” he asked with an airy laugh. 

Fíli shrugged a shoulder helplessly. “Nothing. I only saw you for half an hour yesterday and briefly before bed, yet I still find myself missing you,” he looked incredibly shy for a moment, tapping his fingers against his knees. “Kíli told me earlier today that I was acting spacey.” 

Bofur smiled, feeling all at once like a child, and pulled nervously on his mustache. He thought for a moment that he would never stop feeling giddy when Fíli would look at him like that, like he was a god-given gift upon Middle-earth, or even a simple dwarf who met too many fancies of his—and wondered how long that would be since he was in the prime of his age. Would he be old and still marvel how his wizened fingers jumped or how his heart thudded in his ears when Fíli looked at him? The way Fíli’s eyes looked at him with such infatuation sometimes made him feel too special and like a hundred firebugs danced across his skin. 

Before he even knew it, Fíli had stood and walked around the barrel to sit on Bofur’s lap, his legs to one side, pulling him in by his neck for a slow and soft kiss. Now Bofur did truly melt, holding Fíli close and fast, breathing in the scent of a dusty barn and heady wood on his skin and from his curtain of yellow hair. It tickled his cheek when he tilted his head a certain way, his lips sliding across his own like water. He threaded his fingers into Bofur’s own hair at the nape of his neck, careful not to disturb his braid or his hat too terribly, and he slipped his tongue into his mouth to deepen their kiss. 

It was another minute or so before Fíli broke away to allow them both to breathe properly, then he hugged Bofur close with his chin on his shoulder. Gingerly he rubbed Bofur’s back, drawing crooked circles lazily while Bofur was content enough to hold him, burying his nose into Fíli’s neck comfortably. 

“I’ve also been thinking a lot. About a lot of things,” Bofur said with a muffled voice, pulling himself out of getting lost in the softness of his skin. 

“Like what?” Fíli asked, closing his eyes and suppressing a yawn. 

“About this quest. What Bombur said to me. And about you, of course,” Bofur smiled when he felt Fíli’s cheeks pull into a grin against his shoulder. “Nothing bad, really, It’s just…,” he sighed and Fíli pulled back so he could look him in the face, carefully holding Bofur’s jaw in his hands. 

“Yes? I’m all ears,” Fíli urged. 

Bofur tugged on his lobe just to be silly with a smile that soon faded, sighing and letting his eyes flutter closed and knitting his brows. “I’m scared to lose you, more than you realize,” he started to say unbidden, but he continued. “You see, I lost someone very dear to me a few decades ago and I’ve never quite forgotten or forgiven it. I still think about it every day, what I could have done differently, the things I could have said or should not have said…,” he pinched his brows with a tightened mouth in the shape of a growl. “It destroyed me. And just thinking about what waits for us in Erebor, I don’t know… I just…,” he rested his head on Fíli’s chest with a frustrated sigh. 

“Are you regretting… this?” Fíli asked tentatively, his voice small and almost timid. 

Bofur raised his head again. “No. No, Fíli, gods no,” he nearly laughed at the thought of it. “I could never regret this. I…,” _I’m a fool for you, you blasted dwarf. I could never regret you, not for a hundred Ages_. “Never. You mean too much to me. It’s because I care for you that I am afraid. Before joining the Company, I thought it would have been adventure, a sodding walk in the park, an excuse to get out of Belegost that held too many sad memories. Never for a second did I consider death seriously, or at least I didn’t care enough what happened to me, until I realized the stakes I had taken, the stakes I had invested,” he swallowed thickly, at a loss for words without telling Fíli his whole heart like a muttonheaded twenty-something. He stared at the opening of Fíli’s tunic pointedly. 

Fíli didn’t wait for him to continue, pressing lips to Bofur’s forehead. “I know, Bofur, I understand. I’m afraid too. We all are. I’ve never heard the end of Smaug since I was a dwarfling and ever am I terrified of him. The risks are great. And if you were to be lost to me… I don’t know what I would do. I myself would be lost.” All his words and feelings started converging together and his heart felt like it was growing tighter and tighter in his chest every breath he took. “I don’t know how to say it, what the words are. Words always allude me. But… if you stay with me, Bofur, I have a feeling it will be all right. I want you like nothing else and I will fight all the orcs and goblins of Middle-earth to keep you safe. Believe me. Please.” 

He did. His words sent an arrow straight to his heart and ignited it. Bofur pushed his head down to kiss him with a burning need that seemed to spread and light his very bones. If he could just _show_ him how much he loved him in the best way he knew how, Bofur wouldn’t have to flit around it with such inadequate explanations that never fulfilled his full meaning. He wanted to tell him all that his heart sang since laying eyes on him in Bag End, leagues and furlongs and fathoms away in the Shire, that he would make battle with the Shadows and blights upon the world with naught but his mattock and his hat. He would keep him safe. Without his notice and without his leave, a tear or two slipped from his eyes. 

Fíli paused kissing him briefly to assess why he tasted salt suddenly on his lips but Bofur turned his face away, hoping he could be swallowed up by a hole, or a horse. He fully expected Fíli to laugh at him for shedding such childish tears unexpectedly, but, as always, he surprised him by lifting his head up by his chin and kissing his tears away with so much tenderness Bofur nearly quite sobbed. He laid his lips on his eyelids and wiped his cheeks with his palms as if a mother would clean a smudge off a child’s nose. “Oh, Bofur,” Fíli breathed against his other cheek, affectionately smoothing his hair and braids, tucking strands behind his ears. “Bofur, my sweet.” 

Fíli then pulled his head below his chin for a few more minutes, the two of them content enough to not have to utter words. Kíli poked his head in to tell them Bilbo’s pies and tarts were finished and that they were delicious, eating a crumbling tart himself. Fíli stood up and beckoned for Bofur’s hand to lead him out the barn and Bofur followed willingly. 

Inside the longhouse, delicious smells wafted throughout to the rafters and ushered Bofur and Fíli further inside. There was the usual supper fare; berries of all sorts, breads, butter and cream, mead, honey, vegetables and pickled things, but now there were three different pies and two trays of round little tarts. There was a blueberry pie, a peach and raspberry, and lastly, a strawberry rhubarb. 

Fíli looked over at Bofur, who was happily eating a slice of blueberry pie, with an expression of excitement and surprise before leaning over to whisper to him, “Bilbo made Uncle’s favorite. Look at him eat it. It’s like he’s about to start singing.”

Indeed, Thorin’s face was unusually bright and chipper, eating his slice of strawberry rhubarb with eyes that followed the ever-attentive hobbit all round the table. “Only ma would be able to get it right. I think Bilbo has found a way to my Uncle’s stony heart,” Fíli smiled with mischievous hints behind it, taking a bite of his peach and raspberry.   
“Aye! Through the stomach is the best way to go, as my mother would say,” Bofur replied jovially, taking a sip of the finest mead in Middle-earth. 

Bilbo flitted around the table serving pieces of pie, dodging flying pieces of bread with astounding deftness and foresight, pouring mead and passing butter, all with a smile on his face. Fíli and Bofur and eventually most of the Company watched as Bilbo stopped next to Thorin to say something to make their leader smile, as much as he ever would, before pouring him some of the golden amber liquor. He put his hand on Bilbo’s arm to stop him from walking away and the hobbit craned his head so Thorin could whisper something to him that made their burglar blush and nearly skip away. Fíli would have given his left boot to know what conspired between them at that moment, mostly because Thorin had never looked so pleased in all his life. He looked like all the dark years he experienced had sloughed off him like old robes, and Fíli was never more relived to see it in his Uncle. A new fondness for the hobbit flowered within him like the flowers he liked to collect and put on the table. 

While sitting around the hearth after supper, drinking mulled mead with spices, Bofur started singing a lovely tune, probably elvish in origin but no one seemed to mind. It was lilting and sweet, about summer breezes and maidens, of jewels and rivers and Ones. Bilbo seemed to know a few verses so he joined him in singing for a bit until the song ended. After they were finished, Nori made a joke about a ‘fair maiden’ he knew with tattoos and a certain bald head and his swarthy ways. Dwalin couldn’t seem to be bothered, swirling his mead in his pint, large even in his hands, and gave a sly glace to the red haired scribe who sat rather near to him. Fíli raised a brow and smirked, leaning to tell Kíli how Dwalin’s eyes glittered, only to make his brother snort mead out of his nose. 

Much later, after Glòin’s glorious accounts of his shining star, “Gimli! Can swing an axe faster than you blink, he can!”, and Balin’s account of Mirkwood with Thorin explaining that they would venture through on the Road that lead straight through, hopefully without incident, and after some of the dog changelings nudged their noses into Bilbo’s legs for a petting, Fíli finally laid in bed. He looked up at the ceiling and bid himself to sleep but it would not come. He counted all the slits in the walls that let in slivers of moonlight, listened to Kíli’s sleep ramblings and laughing at the stupider ones, mostly about ducks, and wished Bofur was next to him. 

“Bofur,” he whispered, then again, more harsh. “Are you awake?” Suddenly he felt a little silly, reminding himself of the times he and Kíli would keep each other awake into the early hours of morning talking about girls, their father, their training with their Uncle and Dwalin, and hundreds of other things between the earth and the sun. 

“Yes,” Bofur miraculously replied not a second later, his cot at the far end of their wicker-framed sleeping area. 

“Come over here,” Fíli almost started laughing at the absurdity. 

But, he heard Bofur turning his covers over and quietly padding over to his cot. Fíli scooted over and Bofur slid under the covers with a grin he could barely see but knew was there, telling by the quiet chuckle when he settled in next to him, facing each other. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Bofur said in a voice just below a whisper, his hand resting warmly on Fíli’s ribs. 

“Me either. I’m glad you were awake,” he replied in a like tone, finding the smile on his face was harder to take off than expected, but then again, with Bofur it usually was.   
“I was thinking about you, believe it or not,” Bofur’s voice was low when he took Fíli’s fingers to his mouth and kissed the pads of each one. 

That sent a hot spike straight to his groin. “Oh? Like how?” 

“I’ve been thinking about the way you licked your fingers clean after eating a tart at supper. Gods. It was hard to keep to myself. I just about nearly took you into a back corner, and watching you laugh and drink and your cheeks turn red didn’t help one measure either, and no mistake.” He trailed his lips down to kiss Fíli’s palm a few times, then the underside of his wrist, his voice deep and sensuous and just above a growl. Fíli had never heard him talk like that before, and needless to say, it was very pleasant to hear. He gasped softly at the fire that flew down his arm like a gale, how his heart seemed to stir and patter in his chest. Bofur smiled a little against his skin but he continued planting soft kisses down his arms, his lashes grazing like feathers as he went. 

“Does it seem strange that I desire you nearly all the time? Just to be close. I love just drinking in the sight of you,” Bofur uttered imploringly against the inside of Fíli’s elbow, dragging his fingers along his bicep into his tunic where his shoulder was warm. Fíli shuddered, twisting his legs with Bofur’s to press closer. 

He sighed, shaking his dizzying head. “No, Bofur, because I feel the same. I don’t understand it, but I do at the same time. Just you, always you.” He couldn’t stop himself, he took him by the neck of his tunic and pulled him to his long awaiting mouth to kiss him long and deep, pushing his hands up his tunic and brushing his thumbs over his hips. Before he even knew it, Bofur had turned him over before he could get his hands any further and the miner pressed his front all along his backside so they were flush together, and Bofur’s uppermost hand had crawled up his tunic to knead into his stomach and then his hips, all the while nipping and suckling and kissing carefully at the space between Fíli’s neck and shoulder. 

The prince sighed when Bofur’s fingers twisted into the soft hairs around his navel, spinning in teasing circles, nearly laughing at his lack of control over his hardening groin when Bofur touched him so. His trousers already felt a little tighter, and there was a telltale bulge pressing just above his arse, and that made Fíli grin through his sighs. 

Bofur had his lower arm just beneath Fíli’s neck and bent around it so he could hold him close across his collarbone. Fíli rolled his hips back teasingly, rubbing Bofur just right where he softly moaned and pressed his chest into his shoulders, muttering endearments into his shoulder. The next time Fíli twisted his hips, they both suppressed moans into each other’s skin. 

Fíli had waited too long, Bofur’s hand had dawdled enough playing above his trousers and teasing his sensitive skin, he needed him _under_. Taking his wrist tighter than he realized, he slid Bofur’s hand down his stomach to where he wanted him most. The trousers he wore were looser than usual because he undid the knots to go to sleep comfortably, so Bofur’s hand slipped in easily, and easier still when Fíli moved his upper leg to lay over Bofur’s so he almost lied at an angle at the hips but his back was still pressed flush against his other behind him. Bofur took his hand the rest of the way and cupped his prick and rubbed him all around in wonderful circles and long strokes, his hand ever deft and careful. He slid his palm upwards over his arse to shimmy his trousers down, moving from cheek to cheek tauntingly, and growled lustily into Fíli’s ear while he did so. Fíli lifted his hips as best he could without really thinking about it, all too entirely eager to just help Bofur remove his trousers so he could get on with his business. Bofur got his trousers down to his midthigh so he was gloriously free and hot and throbbing. 

“Oh, lovely,” Bofur hummed into his ear, making Fíli sigh and tremble bodily. 

“ _Ohh_ , Bofur,” Fíli sighed when the miners nimble hand wrapped loosely but tight enough around him, pulling the foreskin up and over and then down so the head of his cock brushed the soft fabric of the blanket, only for his thumb to slide over the dripping end. Fíli’s mouth gaped, eyes closed, all while he was flushed with amazing sensation. 

Bofur brought his mouth to Fíli’s ear and pulled him in slow languorous strokes, and said in a throaty avid tone, “Fíli. Say that again,” he breathed heavily, splaying his free hand across Fíli’s chest and kneading a nipple in lazy circles. He gently twisted his other hand around his cock in such a way it was almost like he was urging him to repeat. 

“ _Bofur_. Oh, gods, yes. _That_ ,” he moaned but quickly stifled it into Bofur’s arm. He arched his back and writhed, hips rolling, toes curling, and dug his fingers into his arm again. Bofur held onto him tighter while he seemed to squirm like a fish out of water, kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear and tugging on his lobe with his teeth. 

Bofur rolled his thumb over the exposed head of his cock, savoring the slickness and texture of him, how he could almost feel the blood pumping through him. He heard Fíli contain a keening whine ending in what sounded like a squeak in his throat as his mouth was gaping, and then he felt a telltale throb throughout his length that Bofur knew well. He cupped his palm around the tip of him so he could catch most of his seed, letting his fingers whisper along the smooth skin of him, grinding his hips gingerly into Fíli’s arse to help with his own hard on. 

“I have you, Fíli,” he whispered against his shoulder, pressing his fingers just a little more. 

Then Fíli tensed, his back taut in a fine arch, and he moaned softer than he had previously into Bofur’s arm, his fingers gnawing almost painfully into his forearm. Bofur couldn’t bring himself to mind, too enraptured in the beauty of Fíli’s pleasure, beyond satisfied with just bringing him to such pure sensation. 

It was nearly a minute before Fíli relaxed back into the cot, hot and panting in Bofur’s arms. With the seed he caught he cleaned off on a far corner of the side of the cot where the sheets were thankfully white. He would have used a towel but there was none to be had at the moment and he wasn’t about to get up and wander round the longhouse looking for one in the dark with a tent in his trousers. After another long moment Fíli wearily pulled up his trousers and then rolled over to airily laugh into Bofur’s neck. 

“Great gods,” he panted, his hand moving to cup Bofur’s neck, his fingers weaving into the hairs there. 

Bofur kissed his forehead and rubbed his back and shoulders tenderly, roiling in the fires that he quenched in his stomach and between his legs. Fíli moved to lay on his back while pulling Bofur with him, making his head lay on his chest and the miners arms instinctively moved to wrap around his waist. Fíli smoothed down his brown hair and pressed his lips to the top of his head, feeling sleep quickly approach him with beckoning arms. 

“You should call me to your bed more often,” Bofur mumbled against his tunic, smiling when the prince laughed tiredly, running his hand over his shoulder with half the effort. It was really no time at all before the two of them were asleep in Fíli’s cot comfortably and soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lordy lord, I was not expecting this chapter to be so long. It was written intially with the beginning part in the last chapter but I had to take out a huge chunk because it didn't fit right, so I just added the beginning to the remaining of this chapter. The next one will be a tad shorter, I swear ;) Also, the machine I described Kili and Fili making is completely made up, I made it all up in my head so it could be totally useless but just imagine that it works like a charm, okay? Deal. 
> 
> Wahhh, Fili and Bofur's relationship is panning out splendidly to my plans! Yes! This is like very nearly one of the few fanfics of mine I'm absolutely in love with. And FIFTEEN CHAPTERS!? Aww yisss. And if you haven't been able to tell yet, I like meddling in the touchy-feely subjects of these characters I enjoy messing around with.
> 
> Anyway! Thanks so much for reading, it's really greatly appreciated and I want to give all of you the biggest hugs! Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas! I love getting feedback!


	16. Sleeping Ute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping Ute - Grizzly Bear
> 
> Fili and Kili have a bit of a fight (like brothers, over something stupid), and Bifur talks to Fili about some good things.

“My teeth are rotting just looking at them.” 

“But they look so sweet together. And comfortable, too.” 

“Should I throw water on them? Because I totally will.” 

“No, Kíli, let them sleep. See, you’ve woken Fíli up with your loud mouth.” 

Indeed, the eldest prince blinked his eyes open, brushing his hand over his face where Bofur’s hair streamed across it and into his mouth. He sputtered to get it out of his mouth and thus made Bofur stir awake. Fíli squinted over at Kíli who sat on his cot across from them not a spitting distance away, Ori standing just near to him on the floor with a sweet smile and his gloved hands clasped sweetly in front of him. Kíli just looked rather unimpressed. 

“What’s wrong with you, you troll?” Fíli grumbled, resting his chin on his hand over Bofur’s chest. He smiled at him in good morning and the miner yawned and stretched in return, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Nothing, I’m just figuring out how you two sweethearts can look so content when my ears started bleeding last night, unbeknownst to either of you for obvious reasons,” Kíli replied flatly, making Ori chuckle but Bofur burst out laughing, making Fíli jump. 

“Durin’s beard! So sorry ‘bout that!” Bofur laughed heartily and apologized, rubbing sleep from his eyes but not too abashed. Fíli had rolled over blushing like mad and buried his face into the pillows, his shoulders shaking while he laughed with intense embarrassment. 

“Don’t be sorry, it sounded like you were doing a fine job of wanking my _brother_ off! But seriously, Fíli, you sound like the whores in the Crooked Axe when you really get at it,” Kíli replied jovially and only half sarcastic, taking the full opportunity to make fun of his brother. 

“Aye, he does, don’t he?” Bofur agreed, giving Fíli a joking pat on the shoulder. Ori was more confused than anything because he had never been to the Crooked Axe in the Ered Luin (Dori would have skinned him) and he wasn’t sure what those whores sounded like, but it must have been hilarious so he laughed along too. 

“Shut your mouths, the both of you,” Fíli sat up, his hair flying about him while he crawled the long way out of the cot. 

“You should be proud! You sound rather wanton,” Kíli teased devilishly, unable to stop giggling. 

“Quite the feat!” Bofur added unhelpfully. 

“It’s your fault!” Fíli stood on shaky morning legs once he stumbled out of the cot, pointing an accusing finger at Bofur, who lied carelessly with his ankles crossed sticking out of the covers and his hands tucked behind his head with a cocky grin. “I’m getting food.” 

All throughout breakfast Kíli and Bofur sniggered with each other back and forth. It was a wonder no one asked them what was so funny, but Òin did ask once why Kíli kept taking bits out of his porridge with an obnoxiously large mouth, meant to look like he was moaning obscenely. He blushed and stopped afterward, the sniggering didn’t stop. Fíli kicked him under the table and almost fell off the bench for doing so since the table was so wide, so instead he threw a small piece of honeycake at him and got honey into his hair. He grinned triumphantly, at least until Bofur flicked a blueberry at him and it splattered over his cheek. Kíli and Bofur highfived and Fíli wiped off the smears grudgingly, seeing now that today would be quite the long one. 

Kíli gave up on his teasing sometime after they got back to working on the arrows later that morning, only to argue with him on how the shafts should be cut to slide the fletching in. Fíli tried to explain levelly through his growing irritation that he knew how to make arrows but his brother wasn’t satisfied. 

“That’s not how I make mine. They’re harder to notch that way and they curve,” he said haughtily and took the arrow shaft from Fíli swiftly. 

“That’s how Thorin taught us,” Fíli said pointedly and twisted his small knife between his fingers. 

“I figured out how to make better arrows. Don’t always have to listen to what Uncle says,” he more or less mumbled in reply, taking his own knife that stood on its point in the barrel across from him, much duller than Fíli’s, and set to whittling notches out. 

“Right, because you know so much better,” Fíli said with a sneer. 

“That’s not what I said!” Kíli hissed. “I know more than you, though. On archery. You couldn’t even string a bow until Dwalin breathed down your neck.” 

“I know how to string a bow! I bet you’re using some elvish tricks on your arrows, if they’re _so much better_. What’ll Uncle and Balin say to that, I wonder?” Fíli replied offhandedly but he held an air of arrogance to his words that had always set Kíli the wrong way ever since they were young. It always made him feel belittled because Fíli was the ‘older brother’ and he was the ‘baby’. 

Kíli grinded his jaw, feeling that fire stir awake hotly in his belly. “I am not. You don’t know anything about archery, much less elvish archery, Fíli, so shut your ignorant mouth.”   
“Oh, I don’t? Please enlighten me, Kíli, because I’d really like to learn your superior skills.” 

“Shut up!” 

“Please, tell me! I must have forgotten nearly fifteen years of trailing watching you fletch your arrows!” 

“And you cut all of them too short! Maybe if I let an arrow fly, it’ll find a way home to your flapping mouth!” 

Fíli had the audacity to laugh. “Oh, good one! Maybe you should shoot all of them so you can start all over without me to help you!” He stood up from the crate he sat on and flung his knife angrily into a door post by the ducks, making them squawk and chatter while he stormed toward the barn door. 

“I will because you’re terrible at it all anyway!” Then Kíli threw a shaft at his back but missed him just as he vanished through the door. 

He stomped toward the longhouse fuming, mumbling any and all responses in his head and outwardly, but when he came around some shrubs he saw Nori, Ori and Bofur sitting upon the porch steps with Ori’s papers around their feet. He turned to his left hoping to go unnoticed to the gardens but Bofur called to him.

“Not now, Bofur!” Fíli growled with unnecessary spite. 

Bofur stood and took a few paces towards him, furrowing his brows in what could have only been worry. “Are you angry?” 

“No!” Fíli shouted over his shoulder and disappeared behind the rose bushes. 

Fíli weaved through the gardens, dodging the giant bees the size of his head more than a few times. One flew too close and he swatted it away, making it spin and veer almost into a patch of sunflowers and Fíli immediately felt lousy because it seemed to sadly meander away. He still couldn’t believe he smacked a humongous bee away, though, and when he pulled himself onto a high stone bench, he realized he didn’t feel angry anymore. 

He sat for awhile and watched the bees get drunk on pollen, the butterflies flit from sunny flowers to the next, and the trees high above sway in softly in the breeze. Fíli had been told his whole life by his mother that he was much like his father in the sense he needed time to himself to sort out his feelings, and that he seeked solitude more often than his attention-needy little brother. And indeed, being by himself for periods of time did help him sort out his shifting and morphing feelings and allowed him to find some peace. He wasn’t one, however, to seek nature to soothe him, but it was particularly beautiful and tranquil here and he allowed himself to enjoy it and smooth out his thoughts, even if Kíli’s biting words still stung and plagued him now and then. 

Sometime later, there was a humming through the lilac and honeysuckle bushes, and finding that he was growing bored by himself, Fíli slid off the bench to see who it was. The lilting humming tune grew closer once he got within a few paces of the bushes, and he smile because he should have known who it was.

Parting some branches of lilac, Fíli saw Bifur sitting at the feet of three large bushes, singing happily in khuzdûl while whittling some wood and munching intermittently on the honeysuckle stalks he had about him. Fíli laughed and Bifur looked up and hooted and waved him inside the open space between the tall bushes. It reminded Fíli of the times he and Kíli and Ori would build forts with blankets and chairs and tell scary stories (all heard from Bofur the toymaker, of course). Fíli settled in crosslegged with a nostalgic smile on his face while Bifur spoke to him in khuzdûl and Iglishmêk. 

«Ah, you have found my hide out» Bifur signed enthusiastically and Fíli almost didn’t catch all of it. 

“I was nearby. I heard you humming,” he replied with a smile. 

«Yes, indeed. I am starting a new toy, and I find this place to be helpful to the process. Not to mention the wealth of honey suckle» he winked and picked up the small piece of wood half the size of his palm, looking close to a bear. 

“What is it going to be?” Fíli asked, plucking a small flower of one of the branches of honeysuckle around Bifur and sucking out the center nectar like he had been shown by the badger dwarf. It was a sweet taste, not at all earthy like he had originally thought, and Fíli actually liked the pleasant taste. He didn’t eat the remaining flower petals, like Bifur would, so he started piling them for him to eat later. 

Bifur started answering in khuzdûl but he stopped himself. «A bear chopping wood with an axe. There will be a string to pull but I have yet to construct it». 

“It sounds like it’ll be a good one, like your eagle,” Fíli replied simply, continuing to suck out the ‘honey’ from the white flowers. 

Bifur paused his whittling and watched Fíli for a moment curiously, furrowing his brows. He made a noise to alert him to watch him sign. «What is wrong, lion prince? I see trouble written plainly on your face». 

Fíli halfway laughed, running a hand through his messy hair and tucking some of the flyaway strands behind his ear. “It’s nothing, really. Just stupid arguments I keep thinking about.”

«Is it my cousin? Has he said something ill meant?» Bifur asked with sudden seriousness but Fíli smiled and shook his head with a slight blush. 

“No, just Kíli. We fought over some stupid things and I said stuff I didn’t mean,” he sighed, twirling a small empty flower between thumb and forefinger. “I accused him of elvish tricks on his arrows.” 

Bifur hollered something in the old tongue and laughed wildly, shaking his mane of hair, continuing to speak erratically to his carving until he finally raised his hands to sign intelligibly. «Those tree-shaggers are crafty with their arrows, but I doubt the child archer would know their evil tricks». 

Fíli nodded heavily. “I know, that’s why I feel like shite. He probably thinks I believe he’s so terrible at archer that he resorts to using their methods. He’s amazing at shooting, the best I’ve seen. Knowing Kíli, he’s probably breaking off the ends of every shaft he’s made to redo them,” he rubbed the space between his brows then pulled absently on one of his braids in front of his ears. “But he was just so _annoying_ today. Him and Bofur both, actually. They teased me all during breakfast and if they team up, those two are going to drive me to my grave, I swear it, Bifur.” 

Bifur chuckled, deeply and fondly, shaking his head. «I saw them laughing between themselves, I did not know they were teasing you. About what?»

Fíli blushed a little darker and Bifur didn’t miss it. “I’d rather not say.”

Bifur nodded and shrugged. «Aye. I see, I see. Well, if you said things you did not mean, then you will have to apologize, lion prince». 

“I know I do, but if I apologize to him today he’ll think I’m just rubbing it in. It’s Kíli, stupid ideas sprout in his head all the time, no matter what I do or say. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow,” Fíli explained almost wearily, slouched over a branch of honeysuckle and picking off leaves and flicking them away. 

«That is good» Bifur signed though Fíli didn’t see it. He said a string of words in khuzdûl and picked up his whittling knife where he had set it in his lap and smacked Fíli on the knee with the flat side of the blade. «On other matters, did you know my cousin—the one with the flopping hat—is absolutely besotted with you?» he paused with a sly smirk to his face, smugly watching Fíli’s face turn five shades deeper red in the face. 

“I… I-I’d… I suppose. I don’t know. I think,” Fíli shrugged helplessly, curling his shoulders in and trying not to grin too hard. 

Bifur guffawed loudly. «Do not be so shy! He is! I see it on his face just as plain as it is on yours. It is quite the lovely sight, I will have you know, to see him so happy. And you too of course. You are both entirely deserving of each other, do not worry. Fat orange and I approve rather much» He winked quite obviously with a toothy grin Fíli knew to be his mischievous look and he let the prince soak it in. 

His mouth gaped a little at this news, better than he could have ever hoped for so suddenly and without notice. The thought of getting Bofur’s family approval had been lingering in his mind for quite some time but he had recently forgotten of it, so to have Bifur say he and Bombur approved was exceptional and took loads of weight off his shoulders. Fíli started to smile and then it burst into a grin. Without much thought, he got on his knees and flung his arms around Bifur’s shoulders in a gentle hug. The old badger dwarf let out a cry of surprise but wrapped his arms around Fíli’s back earnestly while chattering in the old tongue. 

Fíli sat back down and sucked out the nectar of a few more flowers. “Thank you, Bifur. It means more than you know. Really. It makes me very happy. _He_ makes me very happy.” 

«Ah, no worries, lion prince. You have always been in my good graces» Bifur replied, and if Fíli wasn’t mistaken, there was a tinge of color to his cheekbones. 

“I’m pretty besotted with him as well, to have you know as well. He’s too kind to me, I think, but I suppose I’ll learn to deal with it,” Fíli admitted shyly, tickling himself under the chin with a flowery stem. “One thing, though, Bifur. We’re… we’re not officially courting, really, I don’t believe. I still wish to give him the braids and I want to give him things, but not… not with the ceremonies, if you get my meaning.” 

Bifur waved his hand while inspecting the little wooden bear. «I understand. The exchange of family hammers over the anvil is tedious anyway by my reckoning. Court him as you will, but he deserves all respects». 

“Oh, of course! Absolutely. I don’t intend to do anything by halves.” 

«And in that sense you are both the same». 

There was a warmth that had long ago blossomed in his chest he had gotten to know very well but it still alluded him in some ways. It settled in his chest like a contented cat laying in the sun, and it always reminded him of Bofur, with his easy crooked smile and his bright eyes and always impeccable curled mustache. The warmth felt like glowing lights or buzzing firebugs when it swirled into his stomach and into his head, making him smile without realizing it, but Bifur saw it all too well. 

Fíli brought the lilac he had picked up to his nose and inhaled deeply, willing his heart to stop fluttering and reaching out with the pleading arms of a child, but he knew it called out to Bofur so that was alright. His Longing the Maker crafted for him would never quite dissipate because it was all but forgotten, but his favorite miner seemed to have easily pushed all that aside and made himself at home in Fíli’s heart. 

_Aye, Bifur, I am utterly besotted. Arse over teakettle. Completely._

“I’ll see you around, Bifur, I’m going to go find him,” Fíli said and stood up with a flourish of showering flowers and leapt out from the bushes before Bifur could even utter a word. 

«Lion price is quite fitting» Bifur signed to himself and started whittling and whistling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's about five-ish chapters left of Beorn's, and then I swear it'll move on. There's just a lot that I wanted to happen here because it's really a turning point, as you'll read later, but it's all for the better c:
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate it more than you know! Feel free to drop a kudos or a comment to let me know what you think!


	17. Underneath the Sycamore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underneath the Sycamore - Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> Fili has a few tricks and braids are a real thing.

Fíli peeked around the rose bushes at the front of the front of the longhouse, Nori and Ori still sitting on the stairs talking back and forth about something, but Bofur had gotten up and Fíli could see him walking around the longhouse toward the wash shed. Stealthily and quietly he sneaked around the roses and through a parting of some bushes and through the side garden to avoid Nori and Ori, watching Bofur whistle cheerily with his hands in his pockets. He crept out and walked sure-footedly toward the strolling miner, entirely oblivious he was being, by all accounts, hunted. 

“Where are you going?” Fíli asked with a silky and sly voice but Bofur nearly leapt out of his skin with a concerning shriek, his hands flying to his mouth. 

“Fíli! Mahal’s mighty _balls_ , are you _trying_ to kill me? Where have you been? You stomped off the last I saw you and—,” Bofur started ranting with a hand over his heart but Fíli stepped closer with an alerting smirk and interrupted him. 

“Where are you going?” he asked once more, his hands itching to reach out and snare him. 

Bofur forgot his words for a moment, seeing that lust in Fíli’s eyes and unsure what to do about it because he also looked rather devious, but then again he usually looked like he was up to something. “Oh, uhm. I was just going to see if me clothes are dried yet, and to—to get these washed.”

Fíli’s lip curled in a smirk and he stepped closer, entirely too smug he could get the usually confident miner to look so sheepish. “Oh, you won’t be needing those.” Then he was upon him, pushing Bofur’s front against the side of the longhouse and the miner gave a shallow cry of surprise before he realized the intent of Fíli’s hands on him. 

“What? Fíli, not here!” Bofur stammered, his cheek pressed against the mossy logs and his arms the only resistance he had to being completely flush against the wall. Fíli’s front was all against his backside, doing a thousand things at once and Bofur was entirely overwhelmed for a few seconds, too surprised to even process much. Fíli was only a bit shorter than him so his mouth reached only between his shoulder blades because they were also bent forward slightly, his teeth grinding into his skin and his lips kissing his tunic also, his hands wandering with purpose up his stomach and then downwards, over his hips and then his sides, his groin pressed close to his arse. 

“You say I make wanton noises, eh? Remember I told you I am not so innocent? Aye, and I have tricks up my sleeve to make you sing louder than the songs at the Crooked Axe,” Fíli growled deep in his chest, rumbling into Bofur’s back. 

“Oh?” Bofur raised his brows, reminded of Fíli’s words at the river and how suddenly dirty he could talk. He smirked, deciding he didn’t mind one bit. “Is that so?” he teased, coming to his senses finally. He bit his lip when his he felt his arousal quickening between his legs like a flame. 

“’Tis so. You’ll howl like the wolves by the time I’m done with you,” Fíli all but purred against his shoulder, his fingers sliding painfully slow beneath the front of his trousers.   
Bofur chuckled airily and twisted his hips further backwards, Fíli keeping his footing so they were practically folded together. “Is this revenge for hitting you with that blueberry?”

Fíli smiled, pressing his teeth into his spine. “More than that,” then he stepped back suddenly and took Bofur’s arm to spin him around. “It’s a lesson of sorts.” 

Bofur’s brows raised and he hooted but he didn’t get the chance for a further response before Fíli was pulling him away from the longhouse by his wrist toward the apple trees. “I’m all in for it! Mercy on my person, if you please!” Bofur hollered, holding onto his hat while he ran behind Fíli. 

“No guarantees!” Fíli returned, laughing over his shoulder and ignoring the Ri brothers on the steps as they made their way through the garden to the grove. 

Fíli stopped between the circle of trees and smiled before pulling Bofur in for a burning kiss that all but turned their knees to jelly. They lowered themselves to the grass and Fíli crawled over Bofur with his knees on either side of his hips, pressing his front along his while their lips folded and curled together. Fíli took the miners lower lip between his teeth and gently pulled before lifting his head and grinning. Bofur snorted and laughed but didn’t give any hint that what Fíli did was nearly his favorite thing in the world. 

“I’m starting to understand that impish look, but I’m still deciding whether I should be excited or worried, you little lion,” Bofur said with his eye alight and Fíli sat up, pushing his long hair past his shoulders that made Bofur’s stomach do a few rolls. _Lovely, as always._ “What do you have in store for me, hm?” he put his hands beneath his head with a smug look and settled into the grass. 

“Something you’ll never expect,” he laughed. “Little lion. You’re more like a little weasel, you,” he flicked Bofur’s nose playfully before shimmying downwards to keep between his thighs. 

Bofur watched him move from down the length of his nose, the prince taking his time moving his tunic upwards over his stomach, kneading his fingers through the fine black hairs that lead down from his navel with a gentle smile on his face. His fingertips tickled his skin, making the space between his hips shudder and tingle, emitting a shallow giggle from the miner. Fíli made his fingers dance along the bunched muscles of Bofur’s stomach as if he was playing a harp. 

“How I enjoy this,” Fíli whispered, pushing his tunic up further as much as he could because it was caught beneath him, his hand ghosting over the center of his chest. 

“Aye,” Bofur rasped. 

Fíli dragged his palms down his sides and held his hips firmly, memorizing the reveling feel of holding him, kneading with his thumbs. Then, he started unlacing the front of his trousers and Bofur’s heart leapt to racing like a hound. 

“I think you’ve done this before,” Bofur chuckled, his voice betraying him as he didn’t want to seem as aroused as he was. He propped himself up on his elbows, feeling his cheeks flare and his groin tighten, and watching Fíli take his sweet damn time like he was playing a serious game of cards with a wistful smile wasn’t helping matters. 

“No,” Fíli drawled, puckering his perfect lips together and flicking his eyes upwards briefly, hiding his secrets. “I don’t think so.” 

“Then what? Are you going to twiddle me like a flute?” Bofur japed with a disbelieving snort. 

Fíli shrugged a shoulder and his smile grew. Then he looked upwards at the canopy and thought for a moment before replying. “I suppose you could say that.” 

Bofur was certainly not expecting such an honest and innocent answer to his jest because he was totally joking! That would be absurd, to ‘twiddle him like a flute’. That would require his mouth to be _on him_ like that. _There_. Bofur sputtered and turned redder than a cherry tart, bending his knees to stop him for a moment “Y-you can’t be serious!” 

Fíli furrowed his brows, deadpanning, still holding onto the laces with determination. “I’m very serious, I told you I had tricks!” 

“But not of that… technique! Mahal! I’ve never heard of anyone doing such a thing to another dwarf! Not—not like that!” Bofur’s voice rose a little higher than normal, not yet to panic but out of concern. Truthfully, back in his youth, he heard of a certain ‘servicewoman’ that did such things to those dwarrows who asked, far in a seedy tavern somewhere in the lowlands of old Belegost. Bofur dared one of his friends to go and ask her about it and he did, returning an hour later with a glowing expression and wide toothy grin, talking wonders of what she had done to him. Bofur had his doubts however; how could that actually be pleasurable? Teeth hurt! And one could only put something so far in their mouths without choking, wasn’t that strange? 

Bofur thought about it, however. He really liked kissing Fíli, he was a professional, if there was a Guild for kissing Fíli would be the Master, hands down. He had such a wonderful tongue, too, and he knew exactly what to do with it, and he was able to draw such noises out of Bofur like few could ever do, and those lips, holy Maker, they were so supple and soft, and all that around his head… 

Fíli grinned when the realization dawned on Bofur’s face and he relaxed, letting his legs lie flat once more, his head spinning because wow, Fíli had such great ideas. 

“Not such a bad idea, yeah?” Fíli laughed, continuing his work on the laces. Bofur tried to ignore the searing arousal of his that fought against the loosening fabric and into Fíli’s deft fingers. “You’re not opposed to it?” he asked sincerely, his devilish façade falling for a moment. “Because if you are I have other ideas that are not so wild and that you might like, if you’re so inclined.”

Why did he have to look so stupidly and maddeningly innocent then? Gods, if Bofur could do all the things he wanted to show him, he would in a heartbeat, no questions asked at that very minute. He swallowed thickly, thoughts flashing through his head of Fíli in the midst of his pleasure whining his name with the same look in his eyes, so much more spry in his youth than Bofur could ever be now, he could bet his leg would fit over his shoulder very nicely… “No, I suppose not. I’m not opposed, just… it’s unexpected?” then he guffawed, remembering Fíli was very much as clothed as he was. “I think it would be nice, especially from you.” 

Fíli smiled into his beard, looking shamelessly shy and flattered all at once. “I would say I’m pretty good at it.” 

Bofur bowed his head in a acknowledgment. “You are quite a wanton creature so I wouldn’t be surprised,” he winked and Fíli snorted.

“A wanton lion, you mean,” he pulled apart the laces sufficiently and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, snickering to himself. “because I rather like that.” 

Bofur raised his hips to allow his trousers and smallclothes to slip down the curve of his arse by Fíli’s knowing hands, and once he sprang free like a mast set loose, Bofur wanted to crawl back to the caves from whence he came. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid Fíli’s immediate reaction he was sure to be an uncomfortable mix between surprise and disgust at the sight of seeing his most private self in full view for the first time, but cracking his eyes open he was not expecting to see such a hunger and lust in his whole face. His eyes softened and his pupils dilated, a small smile stretching his lips and deepening his stubbly dimples. Bofur could have died with how much love for the blond dwarf his heart was expounding. 

Fíli wasted no time in taking him in his hand, almost playfully and tentatively, his fingers first brushing through the thick thatch of black curls, all around the root of him and between his legs. He pulled him in long slow strokes from the tip to the base and with his other hand he dragged his stubbed nails along his thigh gently that made Bofur bodily shudder from head to foot with an accompanying gasp. Fíli licked his fingers and pulled the foreskin back and made small circles all around his sensitive and reddening head as if he was stirring his tea. Bofur watched him do so with amazement and hooded eyes, mouth agape, and he moved his legs further apart willingly when Fíli nudged them with his elbow. He smiled and teasingly dragged his wet finger down in a stripe to his stones where he continued his lazy circling. 

“You’re doing so well,” Fíli drawled in a low lusty voice that awoke a hundred bees in Bofur’s head, and a hundred other things he could have said. 

He couldn’t help but laugh, finding that his breath was catching in his throat. “What can I say? I like this lesson.” 

Fíli chuckled musically. “My demonstrations are just as good as yours, then?” he twisted the length of him carefully in his hand, varying the pressure of his fingers in places, seconded by the roughness of his palm that did wonders.

“Oh, yes,” Bofur huffed enthusiastically, a smile brightening his sun-dappled face.

“Watch me,” Fíli said in quiet voice, more imploring than demanding, but the look in his eyes said something else, and Bofur couldn’t help but to comply. 

Fíli dropped his head and his flaxen hair spilled over his shoulder in bending waves and settled against his thigh, and he kissed the glistening head of his cock with closed eyes. Bofur moaned simply at the sight of him, the keening sound abandoning his throat without hindrance. He dabbled small kisses down the smooth skin to the root without haste, leaving small spots of moisture which he softly blew air on. Bofur bit his lip and rolled his hips without thinking about it, moving himself in Fíli’s loose grip, and he knitted his brows as the pleasure whirled between his legs like a gale. Mahal, it was so good, he had no idea such a thing would be so boggling and amazing, and here he was, thinking he would be teaching him!

“Great gods, Fíli,” Bofur said below his breath, half laughing in the serendipity of it all. 

Fíli opened his eyes from behind his cock and wagged his eyebrows so obscenely Bofur outright laughed. Fíli chuckled along, only to raise his head to press the flat of his tongue on the tip of him and release it in a long swipe that quickly dwindled Bofur’s laugh into a tightened moan. Fíli could almost feel it reverberate through him, imagining how his throat must have vibrated as it drew from his chest. Bofur’s head tilted backward between his awkwardly raised shoulders and he could see the apple in his throat bob as he swallowed and uttered something in khuzdûl, probably a curse if Fíli knew him as well as he ought. He was so lovely when he was aroused, the noises that came from him were testament to that because it was utter music to Fíli’s ears, just about as charming as his singing voice if not more so. Now filled with a sudden need and desire to make him shout such curses, Fíli doubled his efforts and took him full in his mouth until he almost couldn’t. 

Bofur audibly gasped, his eyes flying open from where they had closed, only to slide shut again a long strangled gasp. “Ohhh, mercy me, I’ll be damned.” 

Fíli rolled his stones in one hand while the other followed his mouth in gentle twisting motions, in part to keep himself from taking him too deep and also because Bofur had taken to rutting his hips slightly. He moved up and down, down and up, varying from a tighter grip to a looser one, all in perfect, deft and precise harmony. His tongue swirled probing circles, hollowing his cheeks, sucking ever so. Bofur’s hips rolled slowly upwards in exquisite circles, evenly paced, and Fíli looked upwards to see how his stomach tightened and how his hips jutted so deliciously. How could Bofur have hid his beautiful form beneath his shabby and loose tunic and jacket for so long past Fíli’s notice? Slim and slender though he was beneath all those layers, he held such strength and power like the proper dwarven miner he was, having toiled days and days away hacking with his mattock. _Gods_ , it was amazing how he moved, how his muscles were defined, Fíli’s own erection had grown ever more impatient and resistant to his trousers. He removed his hand from Bofur’s stones to graze purposefully on his skin between his hips, dusted with the fine black hairs he so quickly grew to treasure, splaying his hand over his hip possessively while Bofur raised it to rock into him. Then he hummed, incredibly pleased with how Bofur shuddered at his hand, only for him to moan loudly and subdue it by biting his lip. 

“ _That_ , for fuck’s sake, Fíli, that,” his shoulders crashed to the ground and he arched his back in a fine shape, digging his heels into the grass. Fíli hummed softly once more and Bofur moaned a pitch higher, catching in his throat. He gripped at Fíli’s hair and shoulder, absently pulling a little too much for regular practice, but Fíli only shuddered pleasantly at the hold. 

This strange, new and glorious pleasure brought about stars behind his eyes in a matter of minutes, odd because Bofur fancied himself as one who could hold off for quite some time. He was finding that was not so when Fíli’s tricks worked such magic he had never known, and he had never been much of a talker either during such things, but he couldn’t give a damn because seven fathers this was too good. 

“ _Fuck_. Holy—ohh, fuck, Fíli, that, yes, oh fucking Mahal almighty, your tongue, you bastard.” Then, that certain and telltale pooling of exceptional warmth flared in his stones and all along his cock and Bofur knew his peak was close, it was right there—“ _There_ , oh, fuck, Fíli, I—I’m—!”

Fíli knew from experience the special pulse right before one was about to come, so he pulled Bofur in languid strokes to goad it out of him. Twisting his shoulders and head into the ground and curling his back, Bofur’s hands pulled tightly on his hair as he came so vividly and wildly it was like he was taken back to his first, so many decades ago now. His varied strangled moans seemed to draw on for minutes as he rode the undulating waves of his mind-numbing climax, he could hardly feel Fíli’s mouth on him. 

Bofur writhed beneath him and Fíli almost lost him from his mouth because he twisted sideways, a few drops of his seed spattering onto his cheek and Bofur’s thigh, but he caught most of it in his mouth. He swallowed it as he went because it all seemed to stream from him as if he was being emptied, and Fíli thought for a brief moment he had never met anyone who came as much in their wild orgasm like Bofur did. Fíli didn’t mind though, he wasn’t so opposed to the taste like some were, and he would have done it all over again if he could make Bofur flop like a trout and cry out his name like he had. 

At long last, Bofur lay flat in the grass and grew flaccid in Fíli’s grip and nothing else spurted from him. He lay panting while Fíli swallowed the rest of his seed and mopped up the spots on his thigh with his tongue, licking his lips like he was trying to get far off crumbs on his cheek. He watched Bofur’s chest rise and fall through his bunched up blue tunic, his eyes fluttering as he slowly blinked up at the canopy of leaves, and Fíli found him so beautiful in his afterglow it utterly took his heart away. 

Doing as Bofur had done to him, he pulled up his trousers with care and a little difficulty since Bofur didn’t bother to move, tucking him back into his smallclothes affectionately and laced him back up. Once he tied the laces in a tight knot, he stretched himself along Bofur’s side and the miner slowly wrapped him in his arms invitingly, kissing his forehead. 

“Dear fucking Valar, Fíli,” Bofur mumbled and chuckled against his hair, rubbing his palm in circles on his back. “I had expected nothing of the sort. Nothing like _that_ , Mahal’s hammer.” 

Fíli grinned, holding onto Bofur’s waist opposite. “You seem to say His name a lot, should I be jealous?”

Bofur snorted, scrunching up his face as he laughed. “Gods, no. But he is the Great Smith and my Maker, I should worship Him whenever I am able,” he mostly joked, finding it rather hilarious Fíli would catch him on that. 

The prince guffawed, shaking his head against Bofur’s shoulder. “You can’t tease me for my cries anymore, Mr. Bofur, or I will be very cross with you and will make you beg for our Maker’s mercy.” 

“Aye, no worries, not after that chorus!” they both laughed heartily and joyfully for a few minutes, content enough for nothing less. “Where came you by these tricks? Who taught, or told you?” Bofur asked, catching his breath and his smile ever lingering. 

“A boy named Nadí. Me, Thorin and Kíli were in a little village on the borders of the Blue Mountains travelling for smith work and we rented a spot in some smithy’s forge for a few months,” Fíli explained, tapping his fingers along Bofur’s chest after propping himself on his elbow to look at his face. “He didn’t talk to me for some time, until one day he asked me when I stayed behind by myself to finish something if I had ever been sucked dry. I had no idea what that meant so I said no, and he meant my cock apparently, so he said so. He was absolutely gorgeous and I had developed a sort of fancy for him so I let him throw me on a table and pull my trousers down and he took me right in his mouth. He taught me a few times how it was done before his father, the smithy owner, walked in on us and kicked us out for defiling his son,” Fíli snorted at the memory and rolled his eyes. “Needless to say, I learned well, and met a few dwarrows to practice with, but that’s a whole other tangent for another day.” 

Bofur smile and tucked some hair strands behind Fíli’s ear, then went to tug gently on his lobe. “Oh, my little lion, the things you surprise me with,” he said tenderly, his eyes bright and his warm palm cupping his cheek. 

Fíli leaned into his hand and his own fingers gently grazed Bofur’s jaw line, marveling in the stubble that had grown darker since the Shire. “Would you let me put a braid into your hair?” he asked quietly, his voice small compared to earlier. He almost startled himself with his question but let it sit between then, meaning it so much his heart clenched behind his ribs. 

“You’d like to do that?” Bofur whispered incredulously, mostly honored by the inquisition, but surprised because braids were a large part of the courting process and Fíli had said he didn’t wish to follow on that path, not necessarily. It made his heart swell, however, having known and always wanted such a gift from Fíli, and that he also desperately wanted to give it. 

Fíli nodded, his eyes dropping to Bofur’s mouth. “Aye, I’d like that very much,” he dropped his head to kiss him softly, then whispered against his lips, “Bifur tells me that he and Bombur approve of this. Of us. I couldn’t believe it.” 

Bofur grinned though he already knew; Bifur spoke of him fondly and Bombur had told him so himself that he approved of the match. “And Thorin?”

Fíli shrugged and sighed. “Still need to talk to him but its nigh impossible lately because he and Bilbo are getting friendlier to each other by the day. Y’know, I saw Bilbo slip into his room a few nights ago when I was coming back from a piss.” 

Bofur raised his brows high into his fringes and laughed deeply. “Oh, isn’t that a fine turn of events! Ori and Dwalin have also been getting cozy with each other, too. A night ago I woke to see him sneak out of his cot and never return.” 

Fíli dropped his head down to his chest with a laugh. “Oh, that’s sweet. Wonder what Mother Dori would say to that, hm? It seems like Beorn’s is quite the place for revealing hearts. I’m sure Beorn and Gandalf are pulling their hair out at all this dwarfish nonsense,” he chuckled and kissed Bofur’s cheek soundly. “Now about that braid. You’ll really let me do it? I want to, very badly,” he asked eagerly now that Bofur said yes. 

Bofur blinked slowly and swallowed, willing his heart to stop whizzpopping and his head to cease whirring. Honestly, he didn’t know what to think of it. He was so ecstatic and baffled and amazed, it didn’t make any sense. He was all for it, but would Fíli think later he went too fast? Bofur knew he was a monumental figure in Fíli’s life because the lad had probably never had such strong feelings (Bofur’s heart sang at that), but he was so young… “You want to commit yourself to me? Me? Fíli, I… I am so honored, really. And… so… I—,” _I love you. I want this. I want this like nothing before. Do you understand your implications, the seriousness of your offer?_ “You know what those braids mean, don’t you? The implications, the commitment?” 

Fíli glowered and pursed his lips. “I do. Have I not made myself clear?” he spoke softly, almost hurt. “Bofur… you must know I care for you deeply… more than I understand. I meant what I said about Beorn’s being the place for revealing things, because it’s far too true in my case at least. Don’t you feel the same? I couldn’t have praised you more if I made a bloody altar atop your hips just now! I can’t stand how you pick at your teeth after supper or your godawful snoring, or how you hardly ever comb your hair! Mahal, Bofur, you oaf!” he started fairly calm but escalated into annoyance as he went, groaning and pulling himself out of Bofur’s arms and sitting up. Bofur closed his eyes in exasperation and wished he had never voiced his doubt and that he could take his words back. “Do I have to be more clear with you? You don’t seem to bloody get that I want _you_! All of that! Did that get through your thick head? Do you want me to write it in Cirth, in Sindarin? Yes, I can write Sindarin! Won’t Bifur be glad to know I can write that?! Bloody fuck!”

Bofur groaned and interrupted him before he could continue with his pointless ranting. “I get it, I get it!” he waved his hands to get him to relax a little, wanting entirely to avoid any sort of conflict with him. He sighed, his eyes widening a little while he shook his head. Fíli narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “I just can’t believe it, y’know? I mean—I believe you, I try. It’s just too good, Fíli! You don’t have any idea how great an idea that is! I want your braid. Can you forgive an old dwarf for trying to leave no doubt behind?” Bofur spoke surely, his voice softening toward the end with unsure eyes pleading for pardon.

Fíli wrinkled his nose, taking in Bofur’s words and letting his expression change to that of one where all light seemed to flee to, his eyes brightening and mirroring into the soul their Maker had so finely crafted. “You’re not old,” he said quietly and looked at Bofur with a small smile, unwittingly revealing the deepest parts of him and his heart that ran as deep as veins of true-silver in the earth. There was a kind love behind his eyes yet he didn’t know it himself as he couldn’t put a word to it yet, maybe it was an inconvenient time. Bofur reveled in the knowledge that he now knew that Fíli had offered himself to him, maybe not entirely yet, but it was enough. It was _enough_. 

Fíli said something but Bofur listened in half a dream, watching his mouth move but hearing nothing that came out of it. Was this real? He was dreaming, wasn’t he? But Fíli placed a hand on his shoulder and he knew he wasn’t, no, this was real. Bofur sat up abruptly and blinked his watery eyes, effectively cutting Fíli off by pulling him in by his cheeks to kiss him soundly and full of warmth. Fíli’s arms flew to encircle his neck, blissfully unaware to Bofur having half a breakdown in his head, so happy he could have hopped up and danced. 

He released his mouth and pressed his forehead to Fíli’s firmly, looking him deep in the eyes, so elated at his revelation beyond belief. His fingers constantly moved on his skin, trying to feel him closer and to get a hold of himself because his eyes pricked hotly with salty tears. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I want your braid so much, Fíli, I want to be yours. Let me give you one as well. Would you let me do that?” he swallowed, his voice getting thicker with every word. “If you want.” 

Fíli crashed his mouth to his, pulling him as close as they could from their awkward sitting positions. He nodded earnestly once their lips broke apart. “Yes. Yes, Bofur, I think I’d like that.” 

“You have so many already, where should I put it?” Bofur chuckled, wiping his eyes with his hands. Gods, today would pass him by like a dream, it was so surreal. What had he done to deserve such a wonderful dwarf? Suddenly his life seemed so drastically different and yet the same; like he had almost been renewed or blessed. He felt so lucky it was beyond his comprehension. Had he ever felt like this?

Fíli laughed softly and brushed at his cheek. “Anywhere will do. Take one out if you need to, any one.”

“You give me too much liberty,” Bofur said as he sat back, looking at his hair to determine a good place where it would so without taking one out. He decided to braid it right below his right ear because his hair usually fell over his shoulders but if he pushed it back it could be hidden, like a special secret. Carefully Bofur picked a small section of hair and braided his perfect golden hair in a neat plait, tying it off with some string from the hem of his tunic. He would get to work on a decent bead to give him, he decided. One he was finished, Fíli ran his fingers along it fondly with a bemused smile and lucid blue eyes that Bofur had put onto his list of Favorite Things about Fíli long ago.

“Turn sideways, I have a spot for you,” Fíli pushed his shoulder a little and Bofur complied, turning so his left faced him. “I have to take out this braid, is that alright?” 

Bofur hummed and nodded, closing his eyes as his head spun. “I’ll talk to your uncle sometime soon, I just have to work up the balls for it.”

Fíli guffawed loudly, gently raking his fingers through his hair once unbraiding it. “He’s not going to smite you.”

“I know, but… you know how intimidating he is, and it’s even worse for someone not related to you Longbeards! Me, Bom and Bifur are the only folk in this Company who are from a different clan! I didn’t know Nori, Dori and Ori were related to you, through a concubine or something?”

“Aye, Ymrís the Cunning, or something. Concubine to Durin the Sixth,” Fíli clarified simply, picking out the right clump of hair to smooth down and plait. 

Bofur curled his lips downward in consideration and nodded, but waved it off to continue from where he left off. “I’ll talk to him, I promise. I’m going to do right by you.”

Fíli furrowed his brows and leaned a little sideways to give him a reprimanding look. “You have done greatly by me. What do you mean?”

Bofur looked down at his hands solemnly, turning them over and smoothing his thumb over the thick calluses. “To protect you always,” he said just above a whisper, refusing to look anywhere but downwards. 

Fíli sighed and shook his head slightly. “Oh, you great silly dwarf. My heart,” then he planted a sweet kiss to his cheek and continued with his work. 

He tied the smaller courting braid into the rest of his larger one so it fell into suit with the rest of the plait, tying it off with the clasp he had set aside. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and Bofur raised his hands to hold onto his forearms, smiling wistfully. Fíli went to kiss his cheek one more time but Bofur turned his head and caught his mouth instead. 

“To protect you always and care after you just as so,” Bofur whispered, his eyes finding Fíli’s vibrant ones. 

“Alright. Sounds good to me,” he winked and let his chin rest on his arm, playfully smiling back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to wonder what you readers think about how this is going so far because I'm really not sure. Even just a simple comment would be nice! But no worries, kudos are lovely too :) Thanks for reading!


	18. Night Owls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night Owls - Mree 
> 
> Bofur is really quite good at hiding his skeletons, but they all come tumbling out and he resists the hollow pits of his past, with Fili's help of course.

The next few days Bofur and Fíli sparsely saw each other during the day, really only in the mornings for breakfast and once or twice when Fíli slipped into Bofur’s cot to surprise him by pulling down his trousers in the middle of the night, and when Bofur did the same to Fíli by showering him with kisses and burning touches. Fíli did stop by the kitchens once to say hello to Bofur and Bombur one afternoon, the youngest of the two making some pies while the eldest more or less got in the way, but Fíli soon went back to the barn to continue helping Kíli with his arrows. He apologized a day after their fight and said he wished he could take his mean words and accusations back with a humbleness to him Kíli was not quite used to. He was quick to forgive him, however, flashing him a toothy smirk before throwing some scrap metal at him. 

Beorn had a forge in attachment to a tool shed just within ten paces of the barn but it was in very poor shape and had certainly seen much better days. There were claw marks littering most of the tables and walls, the bellows and fire pit were full of dirt and rodent nests that had long been abandoned, and a handful of stones making the ring of the pit were crumbling from the mortar. Tools were rusted, wood was rotten, but Fíli and Kíli made it a project to clean it up in thanks for Beorn's hospitality and because it was hurtful to even look at. With the two brothers working in skilled flurry and creating some makeshift solutions, it was looking significantly better in two days time. Thorin even found some time between his planning with Balin and Gandalf and his precious time with their burglar to help his nephews fix up the smithy and hammer broken pieces together.

Thorin created a mold for Kíli’s arrowheads and scavenged for coals and scrap metal pieces as well before Bilbo found them and decided to watch the three Durin’s work on preparing to melt the metal down. Fíli and Kíli mostly quipped back and forth with Bilbo and answered his questions, all the while trying to ignore the hobbits rather interested eyes on Thorin’s backside. Trying to ignore it didn’t go so well so Kíli outright laughed and said Bilbo was rather obvious in his gazing and Fíli added that Thorin was quite vulnerable to the situation. They both narrowly dodged thrown objects from their Uncle and Bilbo nearly scolded their ears off for their ‘assumptions’. 

“More like _arse_ umptions, yeah?” Fíli japed and snickered while Kíli hooted in agreement. Thorin’s gaze could have curdled milk. 

Eventually they did get a measure of work done but the two brothers were the last to get to bed, hours after everyone else. Within a few minutes of lying down to sleep, Bofur was quietly tugging at his covers and Fíli welcomed him heartily with a tired smile and sooty arms. He fell asleep tucked snugly under Bofur’s chin and it was the best he had ever slept. 

Fíli was the metalworker out of the two Durin princes so he forged roughly fifty arrowheads, twenty extra than what would actually be attached to shafts and made into proper arrows and into Kíli’s quiver, but spares were always a good idea. Kíli meanwhile crafted the shafts and fletching to his liking, but he did employ Bofur to get more feathers from the ducks in the barn, and he did rather splendidly, coming back to the forge with a handful. Then, after pausing to stare at Bofur’s head, particularly near his ear with the dangling bone earring under the hat flap, he abruptly asked about the new braid in his hair. 

“Oh, it’s Fíli’s,” Bofur replied with a feigned casualness, rubbing his nose nervously and glancing at Fíli, who was slowly grinning. He helped to make him feel a little less anxious.

Kíli furrowed his brows in confused surprise and turned to look at his brother, then back to the miner. “Oh,” he said, trying to wrap his head around it. “You’re courting? Where’s Fíli’s?”

“It’s here,” Fíli said and moved his hair to show a better view. 

“Oh,” Kíli said again after he saw it, then his face relaxed. “Nice. That’s nice. That’s… that’s a good notion. Yes. Good. _You’re courting?!_ ” A wide grin nearly broke his young and bright face in two and he nearly tackled Bofur to the ground in a giant hug. “Oh, that’s so great! That’s so lovely! Aww, you two are really sweet, y’know that? Mahal’s boots! I’m so excited!” Kíli said while squeezing Bofur tight in his arms, nearly pressing the breath out of him. 

“You’re not even involved and you’re excited?” Fíli asked while shaking his head in exasperation with a genuine smile before Kíli just about toppled him over too. 

“Of course! My older brother is courting the best toymaker in the Ered Luin!” Kíli exclaimed enthusiastically into his shoulder. 

Behind him, Bofur deflated a little, trying not to let his smile diminish but his zeal dissipated into wisps of smoke. Over Kíli’s shoulder, Fíli saw him stuff his hands in his pockets and rock on his heels with a dull look in his eyes that didn’t comfort him. Kíli didn’t notice a change in anyone or anything of course and ranted for a good while about being privy to such an event and how he was so happy for the two of them, how great it’ll be and twenty other things until he drifted to the subject of Thorin and Bilbo getting closer. 

Fíli was sad to see Bofur slink out of the forge quietly a while later and he wished he could have asked him what the matter was but he wouldn’t be able to find a quiet word with him for a few days. He sighed, brushing some hair out of his face and leaving a smear of soot before he continued pumping the bellows to heat the coals. 

\--

Bofur had helped Ori the first few days after receiving his braid, and once he caught the scribe smiling wistfully at him as if he knew (which he probably did because this bunch of dwarrows seemed to find out everything). Soon, though, Ori was able to do most of the work himself so Bofur found company in Nori and Dori, who were busy mending the Company’s clothes, being actually quite agreeable with each other. They had fought for years and years while Nori was working in far lands, doing his thieving and pilfering and who knows what else, and for a good few weeks before the quest they could barely look at each other without snapping on the other. It was only until after the ordeal with the trolls did they seem to reconcile somewhat, and of late they were often together. Dori even listened placidly to some of Nori’s stories and chuckled along to a few. 

Bofur had been friends with Nori since he was a wee dwarfling so he also knew Dori very well and his busybody-ness, but since arriving at Beorn’s, the silver-haired dwarf could hardly be bothered. It was definitely strange to see but neither Nori nor Ori seemed to mind much, and so Dori busied himself with mending the clothes. Every now and then he would swat Nori for his language or scold him if his stitch was off, but he was patient and re-taught his brother some sewing techniques and still made large pots of tea before bedtime. 

Bofur and Nori recalled some events from their childhood and had a good old time together, sipping warmed mead, and at once they both spoke their desire for a pipe simultaneously and rolled around laughing. They had first discovered the Longbottom leaf when they were just hitting their twenties and had been smoking together ever since, and both had quite the affinity to it. After Bofur sat up, wiping at his eyes, Dori reached over and straightened his hat. Nori watched him do so and noticed the braid put into his hair and he gave him a knowing look that made Bofur roll his eyes. 

“Dori, y’know how our dear Bofur had been setting up Fíli’s saddle?” Nori started suddenly, pointedly polite and trying to hide a smile behind his beard at Bofur’s sputtering. 

“Oh, yes. That was really a nice thing to do,” Dori replied pleasantly, wonderfully unaware to Bofur’s death glare aimed at his younger brother. 

“Y’see, dear Bof is now courting ‘im. Worked out quite nice, dinnit? See, he’s got a braid now. Lovely,” Nori’s mouth curled up in a churlish grin and Bofur narrowed his eyes at him while Dori’s widened in surprise. 

“Really, now? Let me see!” he leaned sideways to see it then smiled warmly. “Well, that worked out better than expected! Saddling a pony, what a way to start a courtship!”

Nori guffawed and chortled while Bofur hung his head. “A shy fellow, he is! Always ‘ad been!” 

Dori sighed and shrugged with a cheery smile on his face. “Well, it worked out in the end, aye?” 

“Well, not quite ‘in the end’, if ya get my meanin’—,” Nori started but Bofur launched at him and tackled him off the bench across from him to the ground. Dori gave a cry of outrage and pulled the tunic Nori had been mending from between their bodies and turned back to continue. The two of them wrestled in good spirits and Bofur knew all the spots on Nori’s sides that made him writhe in laughter (It was a secret that he was quite ticklish but Bofur had every intention of exploiting that detail). 

Nori didn’t pull one of his hidden knives on him but he did manage to sit on top of Bofur with all his weight at a sudden turn of events, pressing his face into the wooden floor of the longhouse with his arms twisted behind his back. Bofur gave up and Nori let him go and stood up, extending a hand to pull Bofur up to stand. 

Bofur found Òin a while later sitting in front of a table, his hands steepled in front of his mouth with an array of mushrooms laid out before him. There was one mushroom in the center he was seriously contemplating, so much so he hardly noticed Bofur sitting on the adjoining side of the table. Bofur sat for a minute patiently waiting for Òin to say something but when his eyes didn’t leave the mushroom of interest, he spoke up instead. 

“What are you doing?” Bofur asked with a curious and crooked smile, chuckling at the severity of the older dwarf’s concentration. 

Òin moved his hands to the table and opened his mouth to speak but instead closed it and scratched his frazzled beard. “I’m studying this mushroom.”

Bofur snorted. “Aye, seems like it. Are you waiting for it to speak? Do you have your trumpet nearby? It’ll just be a wee sound, I’ll warrant,” he chuckled at his own joke and Òin probably would have at least smiled but he was entirely dumbfounded by the mushroom.

“If it only could, that would give me a great deal o’ insight! This is a mushroom I have not yet seen,” he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Could be poisonous or completely edible. It looks almost exactly like the one that is edible, but I have a lingering doubt in me mind it ain’t the one I’m thinkin’ ‘bout because the folds are a tad different…”

Bofur furrowed his brows and leaned forward to get a better look at it. “I hope you aren’t thinking of eating it.”

Òin paused ominously. “It wouldn’t be deadly poisonous… could be subject to mild nausea and headaches… or hallucinations. If only that one Radagast fellow were here, he’d be able to tell me!” Òin sat back and clapped his hands to his knees. 

“Have you asked Bilbo? Hobbits love mushrooms, or so he tells me. Or Gandalf? He’s a wizard, too, he might—,” Bofur offered thoughtfully until Òin picked up the mushroom and popped it straight into his mouth without a moment’s hesitation. “Wh—Òin!”

Òin smiled closed-mouthed as he chewed and then swallowed, wincing at the taste. “Nasty bit o’ science, it is. All’s well, Bofur, no need for such a face, laddie!” Òin guffawed and slapped his shoulder. “Oh, that reminds me,” Òin then patted down his vest he refused to have washed, rifling through the inside pockets to pull out a small blue bottle stoppered by a cork. He set it on the table in front of Bofur with a crooked smile. 

Bofur picked it up with a cautious glance to Òin who gave no hints about its contents, only crossed his tree-trunk arms smugly. Bofur pulled the cork off and sniffed it, then put his finger to the opening and upended it. Righting it, he smelled his finger and then rubbed it against his thumb and suddenly knew exactly what it was. His face deadpanned and fell totally blank, giving Òin a ‘are you really serious?’ look before Òin raised his hands defensively with a surprised laugh. 

“What are you giving me this for, you bat-headed old dwarf?” Bofur asked lightly with eyes that really laughed at the absurdity, shaking his head and stoppering the blue bottle once more. He couldn’t help the small smile that leapt to his lips, however. 

“Oh, come now, I’m not so daft! I see your big googly eyes on the prince when he’s near, I sure do! I’m a dwarrow devoted to my craft, but I know those looks when I see ‘em, no mistakin’! Y’know my brother, how he talks ‘bout his wife all wakin’ hours of the day,” he scoffed and shook his head, then looked at him pointedly. “And that braid laddie, there ain’t no hidin’ that so don’t act so surprised that I’m onto ya. I’m not sayin’ that you have to use it, but its loads better than anythin’ else you’ll find.” 

Bofur gave a nod and started laughing, his shoulders shaking and he tapped the bottle against his bowed forehead. It was just hilarious to him that Òin, as deaf as he was, just _knew_. “Well, your eyes sure aren’t failing you.”

“What, laddie?” Òin tilted his head forward. “Don’t speak to the table!”

Bofur raised his face and smiled. “Thank you, Òin. I appreciate it a lot,” he clapped a hand to his shoulder. 

Òin winked and scratched his beard, one brow furrowed from listening closely, making him appear slightly madder than he was. “Good. Now, if you see me doing anythin’ interesting, let me know so I can write it down.”

Bofur chuckled. “Aye, I sure will, count on it.” He stood from the table and slid the bottle into the pocket of his trousers with a great deal of relief. It was a wonderful gift from Òin that he actually needed (or at least will need, hopefully). He went to go see what Fíli and Kíli were doing in the forge with a silly grin on his face. 

Bofur wasn’t sure how he felt about Kíli calling him the best toymaker in the Ered Luin courting his princely brother and the heir to the throne of Erebor. He knew the lad meant it as a compliment and he wanted to take it as one, he really did, but for some godforsaken reason it wouldn’t settle with him. Kíli meant well, he usually always did, Bofur knew, but… it was his own problem, not anyone else’s that he couldn’t settle the class difference between himself and Fíli. He left the two brothers because he knew he was a fly on the wall with his pointless brooding and he felt like being alone to sort out his stupid insecure thoughts. Instead, he went to go drink some of Beorn’s delicious honeyed mead and start early on supper so he could go to bed early. 

Bombur and Bilbo were discussing how best to cook the pies and breads and stew in the hearth the help of a dog changeling, a boy who looked no younger than twenty by dwarfish years, dressed in a grey tunic and rather quiet, but he seemed to take kindly to Bilbo and Bombur. He helped them organize the food above the fire so they could warm and then slipped off upon seeing Bofur sitting at the longtable. 

Bombur served him up a nice heaping bowl of vegetable stew and a hunk of warm buttery bread and set all the berries and creams and honey out before him. The three of them chatted jovially about the changeling boy and what to do tomorrow for breakfast, Bilbo pulling of the wilted leaves and petals off the flowers in the makeshift pitcher-turned-vase on the table. Those dwarrows who were outside and elsewhere in the longhouse filtered in for supper while Bofur was just finishing. He slipped out a side door to make his water before quietly padding to his bed. He picked up the mangled piece of wood on the side table that he had been working on, sitting on his cot against the wall and pulling his knees up. He whittled and carved and flicked curls of wood onto his bed and the floor, some gathering on his legs but he didn’t notice. He finished the wolf within a half hour and wandered outside to the woodpile to find another piece to carve. 

_Best toymaker in the Ered Luin… you bet your fancy fur-line boots you’re right…_ he thought to himself, finding a decent piece of pine and heading back inside to continue. He didn’t think about it, the knife fit in one hand and the wood in another like he was born with them. Soon enough, he was covered in shavings again and an unrefined stag in his hand with a cut on his thumb that he hadn’t noticed until it bled over the belly of the stag and dripped onto his lap. Then it stung like he had poured alcohol into it, and were it any other time he would have gotten up to hold onto it and find a bandage, but instead he watched the blood seep out of the large gash, watched it pool in his palm and dribble down his wrist, staining the stags side red as he held it in his hand. 

“Bofur…” That was Fíli; he knew that voice, just at the wicker screen, then, “Mahal! You’re bleeding! A lot!” and then he dashed off but Bofur hadn’t even raised his head or moved to staunch the blood. The blood was halfway to his elbow in thick red vine by the time Fíli returned with water and bandages and a cloth. 

He sat down on the cot on top of all the wood shavings and pulled Bofur’s wrist toward him so he could swipe the blood away. “Were you just going to stare at it until your hand went numb?” Fíli asked, more to his hand than to Bofur himself. 

“Maybe,” Bofur replied shallowly, his eyes focused on Fíli like his hand didn’t matter at all. His hair was wonderfully imperfect; strands of it had fallen loose of his silver clip around the crown of his head like waving yellow-gold chains. He adored it, how some were tucked behind his ear, how some fell down his forehead. While he vigorously wiped at the skin and squeezed his wrapped thumb with the other, a strand slipped free from behind his ear so Bofur moved to put it back into place. 

“Were you carving? No, ignore it, that’s obvious,” Fíli answered himself, focused on cleaning off the blood. He pursed his lips and slowly became gentler, cleaning off the cloth in the water-filled bowl carefully placed between his knees. He hadn’t looked at Bofur’s face since he started and he really wished he would. Bofur heard him swallow. “Are you alright?” he asked after a long pause, glancing up at him at last, but then his eyes flitted away. 

Bofur sighed then rubbed his lips together to try and form what he wanted to say. With his uninjured hand he pulled off his hat and set it on the cot next to him, running his fingers through his hair. He thought for a moment that he would love to have Fíli comb through his hair and with his deft fingers to braid it. He would love that. But, of course, he couldn’t bring himself to say so. 

“I don’t know. I want to say yes to reassure you but I’m not sure if that’s entirely true. I’m okay, it’s just… I want to tell you things, say all these things, Fíli, but I’m unable to,” he explained in a frustrated tone, even more upset because it came out all wrong. 

“Why? Why can’t you tell me?” Fíli asked calmly but Bofur detected a tightness behind his voice. 

Bofur chewed his lip, trying to figure out what he could say to amend himself. “Because I don’t… its… maybe you’re not ready to hear what I have to say.” 

Fíli lifted his head and regarded him with a tinge of annoyance. So that wasn’t it, then. His mouth was set in a line and his eyes were hard. He looked exhausted. “How can you know if I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about? If you’re having second thoughts about the braids, please let me know so I’m not so hurt later.”

Bofur’s blood went cold, the only thing he could properly feel. “No, no, Fíli, that’s not it, I’m not having any second thoughts. I wanted your braid and I wish to keep it. I—,” he stopped himself and rubbed at his temple, scowling. He felt utterly rotten and Fíli wasn’t helping. “No, Fíli stop jumping to conclusions.”

“How can I not when you give me these cryptic messages? I can’t understand you fully yet, you have to tell me these things—but it seems you can’t because I’m not ready to hear them, apparently,” Fíli replied with a sarcastic resolve, looking back to cleaning his arm with indignation. 

Bofur groaned. “You misunderstand me.”

“No, I think I understand just fine. You think I’m a child. That I’m incapable of understanding or comprehending stronger feelings for those other than familial. Isn’t it?” he ground his jaw together and squeezed his eyes shut, hardly noticing that the hand holding his wrist was gripping rather tightly. 

“No! That’s not true, none of it,” Bofur spoke softly, hating every inch of his stupid head and the look of frustration and sadness on every corner of Fíli’s face. 

“Then what is it?!” Fíli shouted at him with an angriness that left him near instantaneously and he quickly deflated, looking ashamed. He still held tightly onto him and now with the cloth in his other fist. “Sorry. I… I didn’t mean to sound so angry,” Fíli muttered, loosening his grip on Bofur’s wrist but the miner hardly heard him.

Bofur’s heart sank into the dark pits he had gotten privy to decades ago and it felt like teeth had opened to swallow it up. He _hated_ how he could be sometimes he could scream. Sometimes he believed that Mahal had made him incorrectly, given him too many feelings or something of the like, or he had simply doomed him to lose everything he had ever wanted. Maybe Mahal had abandoned him to wallow and wilt like a plucked bud. His usual optimism had fled and now his thoughts were dark, full of evil grins and bloodied knives. Red hair came into mind, long and soft and beautiful, now even darker and redder with blood and dirt, twigs snagging into it. Skeletons raked at the back door, gnawing his mind with their half decomposed fingers and beckoning him to the pits he weltered in for two decades, numbed with alcohol and the work of his trade. _No. Not again, please, stay way, go. Go. Leave!_ Bofur used his free hand to claw at his hair, willing the thoughts to desist. 

His throat was thick when he spoke and it startled him how much he sounded so unlike himself. “It’s not you. Nothing is wrong with you. It’s me, it’s always me. Not you, not ever you...,” he took his hand away from Fíli and dug his knuckles into his eyes, hardly caring that blood seeped from his thumb to smear his cheekbone. Fíli sat like a stone on his shaving-littered cot and waited with all the patience of a hundred dwarrows while Bofur collected himself again, as haphazard as it was. It was like he had dropped a vase and he was trying to scoop all the hundreds of broken shards into his arms. He always thought it strange that he could lose himself in a heartbeat and fall to utter pieces but he could always find a feigned composure after a moment, but that didn’t go without saying that his chest felt hollow. 

He blinked his eyes furiously to rid the splotches of color and salty tears. “You may be partially right. It’s not that I think you’re a child, just that you’ve never been in relationship like this… and how complicated things get from here,” he looked down at his hand, blood still caught in the creases of his palms like small veins. “I was married once. I had a wife. Her name was Halla and she had honey red hair. I knew her since I was a lad half your age and I loved her. She died… or killed, more like. I won’t go into details, but as I’ve said, it destroyed me for years. All I could do was mine and drink and mine, nothing mattered. Nothing of importance, except for Bifur and Bombur. It ate and gnawed at me until I was raw. Then Bifur joined Thorin’s Company and once I heard I joined too and Bombur followed soon after. Then we left the Ered Luin to the Shire, then Bag End, and then you,” Bofur’s voice broke a little, still refusing to look up at him. He closed his eyes at the memory of seeing him in Bilbo's dining room, arms laden with food and smiling at something Kíli said. His voice was hardly a rasp out of his throat. “Then _you_. Gods, you were so beautiful I felt jumbled up again and put back into my right self I didn’t know what happened. I was a right fool for you from the start, you giant arse.” 

Bofur tried to control his quivering lip as his tears assaulted him again but when he looked up he saw that Fíli’s eyes were wide and swimming. He opened his mouth carefully but no words came out until he blinked his eyes a few times, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Why didn’t you say? That you had a wife?”

It felt like Bofur had swallowed a rock and a mug of sand with it when he spoke. “There’s never a good time to bring it up over casual conversation,” he smiled weakly but didn’t feel it, and Fíli sobbed once before jumping forward and crashing his lips to his messily. 

Fíli brushed at Bofur’s face while he kissed him, smearing his tears away and moving his messy hair that fell about his cheeks. His hands were careful and insistent, his lips just as so. Fíli had seen the look of utter hopelessness in Bofur’s eyes when he spoke, a complete reverse image from the dwarf he knew that Fíli could hardly believe it. He did believe him, though, because he was so completely broken and even the words wrenched from him like they were just as painful as his memories. It frightened him. If Bofur, someone who was so vibrant and kind and caring and so good-hearted could be brought to such depths, who could say that he wouldn’t again? That Fíli could be there alongside him, that Fíli could _bring_ him there made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. It was so _cruel_ to see Bofur so dwindled of his light that Fíli so admired. 

Bofur gripped his tunic in his hands with a desperate need to have him closer, to have him a tangible anchor. He wrapped his arms around his waist and clutched onto him tightly, fearing to let go. Fíli broke their mouths apart to press his brow to Bofur’s, his mouth twisting in a sob. “I am so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Bofur… great gods, a right fool. A beautiful, stubborn fool,” he sputtered a laugh, sniffing and brushing more of his tears away. 

Bofur snorted, closing his eyes and reveling in Fíli, the scent of him, how he was so warm beneath his cold and prying hands. “I don’t mean to be the way I am sometimes. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, I never wanted that.”

Fíli hushed him when he started sobbing again, moving so he more or less sat in his lap, the carving and his thumb forgotten for now. “Oh, shush. It’s alright. I’m fine, its okay, my heart,” Fíli whispered, finding it strange that he had only ever comforted Kíli like this, messy with tears and snot, and he thought that he was alright with that. Bofur deserved as much from him. 

“I’m sorry. Don’t be angry with me, please…,” Bofur rolled his lips together, his hands somehow finding their way into Fíli’s hair, tangling the threads between his trembling fingers. 

“Shush, enough of that,” he said softly while tenderly brushing his tears away like he had before, tucking back loose black strands that fell along his cheeks. “I don’t think I could ever be angry with you for long, especially not when you’re so honest. Thank you for that, it helps me and helps you. I wish I knew the words to comfort you,” Bofur shook his head vigorously and swallowed. 

“This is enough,” he said below his breath, as gnarled and dry as it was. 

Fíli smiled softly, cupping his cheek and running his thumb along his sharp cheekbone. He didn’t say anything, only looking into his face and slowly seeing the pain and desperation melt away like a terrible nightmare. Bofur relaxed into his hand and Fíli kissed his cheek right next to his nose, then his eyelids, his forehead and the corner of his mouth. “I’ll try to understand where you’re coming from. And I forgive you for being so stubborn,” Bofur huffed and gently smiled, and that was enough for Fíli’s heart to leap in his chest. He sat back and wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. “Let me finish cleaning you up and then we’ll have to take you to Òin to get you stitched up because you cut your thumb pretty deep. It’s still bleeding. I thought you were a proper toymaker.”

Bofur couldn’t help but smile when Fíli winked at him with red rimming his eyes, and then glancing over he saw the dark spot of water where the bowl had spilled from his lap. He sighed and gave Bofur a tired look. “Well, I guess you’ll be sleeping with me tonight,” he said in a mock resignation tone. 

“Gods no, anything but,” Bofur complained along with him and the sound of Fíli’s rippling chuckle brought him warmth to his chest and he felt a little more whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot tell you how it pains me to write Bofur so _sad_ , or how hard it is. Its so bloody hard I feel like I've done a horrible job of it, but I am satisfied to an extent. I really hope it's not too 'out there' for Bofur to be such a broken lump. I just feel like he would be really good at hiding his problems, trying to keep those he cares about worry-free even though his thoughts eat at him until he literally just can't hold up his aloof and goofy facade anymore. He's such a passionate dwarf that he feels things very deeply, almost more than the typical dwarf, I feel. He acts oblivious and unattached regularly because that's how he is, but it also helps him deal with stuff. I love Bofur so much I don't even know what to do with myself and it hurts to write him this way, but I do get a sick sense of pleasure out of it, hahaha. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments! Really, it's so lovely to hear from you! I wish there was a real messaging system on here so I could say thanks to you all individually without posting comments on the story (it confuses me and gets me overly excited because I forget it was me and I think somebody said something, hah). But know that I read all your comments and I really, truly love all your kind words! It baffles me that people actually like reading this story because its centered around such an unpopular pairing, but it relieves me that I'm not writing solely for my entertainment and to the vastness of the internet. I love you all so much! If I could give you hugs I would! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	19. All I Want is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I Want is You - Barry Louis Polisar (from the Juno soundtrack)
> 
> A much happier chapter. And Bofur finally talks to Thorin.

Despite common belief, dwarves were creatures of emotions and gut feelings, quick to anger and quick to befriend. Like veins of ore in the earth, they felt things deep and true, and to get a beautiful metal, the crude elements must be burnt out. It is such as the process of refining a dwarf may seed out unnecessary notions and feelings to get to a finer and better product of his efforts. 

It wasn’t easy for Bofur to pour out what had been the very root and plague of his troubles to Fíli. There was a chance to do so and though he was reluctant, he took it and willingly submitted himself to the refinement process. He slept uneasily and found little peace, but as a smith is always there present to shape a sword, Fíli was there when he woke up. 

His hair smelled of smoke and hay and a faint trace of flowers, spread over the pillow like strewn wheat. Some morning light fell through the thatching of the roof but Bofur knew it was still very early in the morning. No matter how long he would be away from the steam whistle calling miners to work, he would always wake early. 

His dreams were dark and fretful, full of past images and things that haunted him still to this day, but upon opening his eyes he soon noticed how his head didn’t hurt or how he felt less heavy on Fíli’s cot. No, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest and his head, he could even breathe easier. He was so tired still but he actually smiled because it was such an immense relief to feel _all right_.

Bofur turned onto his side and slowly wrapped his arm around Fíli’s waist and held him close, nuzzling his mouth and nose into his shoulder through his tunic. He was warm as he always was for he seemed to burn beneath his skin like the forges he tended, but Bofur didn’t mind. He always kept the bed warm, at least. Fíli shifted a little in his sleep, mumbling something and clacking his mouth open and closed and settled into Bofur’s body behind him. He curled inwards, holding onto Bofur’s arm and didn’t move anymore. Sooner than he anticipated, Bofur fell asleep quickly afterwards. 

The next he woke it was late morning by the multiple small feet padding all along his stomach and chest. He furrowed his brows and opened his eyes to find one of the barn cats curled rather happily in between his hips, purring something fierce. “Hullo,” Bofur grumbled and moved a hand to pet his head, the cat moving into it like nothing else was more welcome. He scratched him behind his ears indulgently, chuckling at how the cat purred louder, undulating and looking rather pleased. 

“Yes, that feels good don’t it, you big and fat heavy thing,” Bofur said to the cat, voice dry and almost painful as it rumbled out of his throat when he spoke, more than likely from his crying the night before. Fíli had still brushed his tears away when they finally curled together in his cot, hours after he found him bleeding. 

He scratched the cats head awhile longer before getting tired of it and he brought his hand away to tuck beneath his head. The cat was not happy and followed him up his chest, stepping heavy and surefooted on his navel, making him jump and groan. “Ouch! What do you want? No, I’m done petting you,” Bofur complained fruitlessly when the feline decided to get comfortable in the middle of his chest. He eyed Bofur expectantly, daring him to challenge what he wanted, but Bofur gave in and went to petting his back. 

“Somebody likes you,” a voice said from the end of the cot. Bofur lifted his head from the pillow to see over the fuzzy grey lump in front of him to see Fíli holding a tray with a mug and a plate of food, smiling widely when the cat rubbed its side along Bofur’s chin, making him sputter.

“He’s ‘bout to suffocate me so I don’t think he likes me so much,” Bofur said and pushed the cat away from his face, but it was like pushing a rock that moved right back into place. 

Fíli chuckled and walked over to the side table to set the tray down, then went to lift the cat off Bofur. He complained loudly and looked at Fíli over his shoulder where he had moved him to the floor sourly, then stalked off with his tail held high and straight. Fíli sat on the edge of the cot and Bofur moved to sit against the pillows, looking curiously at the tray on the table. 

“I brought you breakfast,” Fíli said and handed him the mug of coffee, to which Bofur took with a grateful smile. 

“Oh, my favorite. You know me so well.” He took it with both hands eagerly, lifting it to his lips to sip, mixed perfectly with cream and sugar. Coffee was Bofur’s only sole savoir when he worked in the mines so early and he had frankly missed it for most of the journey until they got to Beorn’s. Fíli also happened to make the best cups of coffee, so Bofur considered it a lucky treat. 

“Of course,” Fíli smiled while setting the tray in his lap. He had brought berries and bread with butter and a slice of Bilbo’s morning bread, dusted with cinnamon and crumbled walnuts, baked with bits of apple in the middle. 

“What’s all this for?” Bofur asked with a dip of an eyebrow, setting the mug carefully on the tray and picking up some fresh raspberries. 

Fíli shrugged, his smile still on his face giving away nothing. He moved to look down at his hands, nudging at some of the calluses that hardened some over the last few days. “I don’t know, as a lame sort of apology, I suppose. I’m kind of an arse and I know it. Last night, I mean. And as thanks. And comfort,” Bofur scoffed and halfway chuckled. “I know, it doesn’t make sense!” Fíli laughed and seemed to blush a little on his cheekbones. Then he looked back to Bofur with true sincerity in his eyes, taking his injured hand between his two. 

“I’m trying to understand what you said to me also. I… I’m glad you told me about… about your wife. You only need tell me what you can, if it hurts too much to say any more. I won’t force you to tell me what you don’t want, but… it really helped me to know _you_ better, if that makes sense,” he spoke slowly, removing the wrappings around his thumb gingerly and without haste. Bofur ate his bread and drank his coffee with his other hand, listening quietly and closely. 

“And if you want to talk about anything, anything at all, I’m always here to listen, y’know. Keep that in mind, would you? I may not know how some of these things work between two dwarrows, but I’m quick and apt to learn. Please don’t shut yourself off to me. It makes me worried that I’m doing something wrong. I’m terrible at jumping to conclusions, too, so I’ll try to work on that if you’ll try to let me understand.” 

Bofur nodded and made up his mind and there was no question about it. “Alright. I will. Try, I mean. Really,” he nodded again more meaningfully, and when Fíli looked up to smile at him again, one jumped right back onto his face like it always should be. He brought his hand to cup Fíli’s cheek and he stroked his thumb a little. “I’m an arse, too. A big one. Thanks for knocking me on the head to make me realize it.”

Fíli laughed. “You nicked your thumb enough to get six stitches, you daft toymaker. Think you didn’t need a head knocking.” 

Bofur chuckled heartily and lifted up a piece of buttered bread to take a bite. He chewed and swallowed and took a gulp of his coffee. “I’ll talk to you more often about… things. What goes on in my head. Sometimes I just don’t know how.”

“Make it into a story. Doesn’t matter, just whatever helps,” Fíli offered and Bofur tilted his head to consider it. “I think you keep things to yourself because you think nobody cares. I do that too, so we’re in the same cart. We’re in this courting thing together, Bofur, so whatever works for you, works for me,” Fíli said steadily and with an openness to his voice that Bofur admired and appreciated more than anything. 

Abruptly, he took Fíli’s upper arm with the hand he was tending to and pulled him forward to kiss his forehead. He carefully wrapped that arm around his neck, his other hand holding the coffee mug, and said to him, “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?”

Fíli blinked. “No, but I don’t think you could suffer to say it more often.” When Bofur released him he winked and then leaned forward to capture his mouth in a tender kiss.   
“I appreciate you. A lot. And your bloody perfect coffee,” Bofur said earnestly and then sipped from his mug to make a point with playful eyes over the rim, making Fíli laugh in deep ripples. 

He pulled one of Bofur’s braids and then his hand drifted to gently brush his fingers along the small courting braid, smiling absently. “Would you let me braid your hair sometime?” he asked quietly with a tilt to his head, looking entirely too sweet for words. At a look to his face, one would never suspect he could just as easily smile and slice off a head in one fell stroke. _A lion courting a sheep. I wonder what the tales would say about that_ , Bofur thought with a fond chuckle. 

He nodded and placed his hand on Fíli’s knee and gave him a squeeze. “Aye, I’d like that. I’m thinking about taking a bath today or tomorrow, you could do it after?”

Fíli nodded quickly, liking the idea. Then he seemed to remember something, going through his trouser pockets and pulling out a tin. He put it purposefully on the side table with an intense look to Bofur that reminded him vividly of Thorin scolding his nephews. “Òin gave that to me to give to you to put over your stitches, after he was done hallucinating and mumbling about birds and oliphaunts in the ceiling. It’ll help the skin bind easier. You need to put it on three times a day he says.” 

“He hallucinated? When?” Bofur asked, very interested and surprised. Fíli furrowed his brows at him. 

“While you were back here carving, before I found you. He was wide-eyed and sprawled on the floor like he was half drunk, crying out that oliphaunts and eagles were twirling and hopping on the ceiling. He also said he was melting into the floor. Gandalf said he found some of Radagast’s mushrooms,” Fíli explained evenly, finding it funny but not nearly as much as Bofur found it, who held onto his stomach when he threw his head back laughed heartily. “But the _point_ , Bofur, is that you have to put this on, alright?” 

After he found his breath, he said, through a mouthful of morning bread, “Can’t do it.”

“Why?” 

“I’m eating,” he said with so much cheek he made himself laugh again. Fíli rolled his eyes and picked up the tin. “No! It’s going to sting!” he complained when Fíli snatched his hand away, being difficult just because he could. 

“Don’t be such a dwarfling!” Fíli said with resolve but Bofur could see a smile through his mustache. He opened the tin and scooped out a dollop of the green-brown ointment and swiped it along the stitches that ran most the stretch of the pad of his thumb from one end to the other. It didn’t sting. “See? Not so bad, you big baby. This is what happens when you let your knife slip.” 

“Bifur is going to lose his axe because he’ll be laughing so bloody hard,” Bofur groaned and tilted his head back. “I haven’t hurt myself carving since I was thirty-nine. Do you understand how embarrassing this is?”

It was Fíli’s turn to chuckle but he tried to hide it behind his lips, ultimately failing. “Sorry. No, I don’t get it, but don’t let it happen again! You stained your tunic. Or Beorn’s tunic, more like.”

“It smelled like a dog when I first put it on.”

“A dog changeling’s tunic, then. And you just stared at it! I came to talk to you about why you left me and Kíli looking so downtrodden but I find you staring at your dripping red hand like it suddenly grew! Seven fathers, I never expected that.”

Bofur chewed his lip and tapped his fingers on the underside of Fíli’s wrist. “It was just about how Kíli said I was a toymaker courting a royal Durin,” he closed his eyes and pulled his braid. “Stupid, I know. Don’t look at me like that, you’ll give yourself cataracts.”

“Are you _still_ on that track despite how many times I’ve told you to knock it?” Fíli asked in quiet disbelief, wiping his finger off on his trousers. 

“No, it just got into my head that Thorin would have the same thoughts or a similar reaction,” Bofur explained, popping a strawberry into his mouth after pulling off the leaves.   
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Fíli asked while reaching for a roll of gauze. 

“No!” Bofur burst unexpectedly, making Fíli raise his brows in surprise. “No. I will do it. I _will_. Anything else will make me look like a coward.”

Fíli sighed and went to wrapping Bofur’s thumb. “You know… I spared with Dwalin this morning while you were still sleeping,” he said slowly and Bofur was grateful for the change of subject, his mustache braids swinging softly across his chin. “He asked me about my braid. And you know what I told him? I said it was yours and I was proud of it and if he had anything to say to say it right then or shut up about it. He looked at Balin and then back at me and grinned, slapped me on the back and said I was finally getting on with business. Then you know what he also said?” Fíli raised his brows dramatically. “To be prepared for us Durin’s as we’re a thirsty lot.” 

Bofur guffawed loudly and laughed rambunctiously, Fíli joining along into his tunic. “Great gods! He really did?” Bofur said between laughing, awed that Dwalin had such lewd nerve. “Perhaps Ori had something to do with it? Maybe the little scribe is a little more influential in those areas, hm? Oh mercy me, that’s rich, that really is.” 

“Yeah! I’m not sure what’s going on between them but there’s _something_ , I know it. Ori’s never going to say anything unless he’s drunk. Sooo,” Fíli shrugged and gave him a mischievous look. 

Bofur narrowed his eyes and raised his brows, a devious smirk playing at his mouth. “Ohh, little Ori doesn’t know what’s coming.”

“He might, if Dwalin’s involved,” Fíli quipped shortly after, making Bofur flop onto his back to laugh hysterically. 

\--

After Bofur fixed his hair and changed out of his blue tunic into a faded red one and put his mustache into some semblance of order, he finally left the bedding area to the main hall. He expected Thorin to be there as Fíli later told him after wrapping his thumb that he was looking over maps at the table. He sat in a large chair decorated at the head with snarling bears and wolves, bent over a sprawling map in his lap, tea in front of him on the table. 

He paused ten paces away, telling himself that Thorin was not so intimidating as he put on, and imaging him in watching Bilbo with so much fondness seemed to lift his spirits and resolve. Yes, he had somebody too, as gruff as he was, and that somebody happened to be the gentlest fellow Bofur had ever met. So, bracing himself and squaring his shoulders, he strode over to the bench on the longer side of the table to pull himself up onto. He wasn’t going to be a coward. He wouldn’t shame Fíli like that because he couldn’t talk to his sodding uncle about courting his nephew. 

Bofur sat at the table wordlessly and pulled a bowl of berries closer so he could pretend that was his purpose before speaking. Luckily, Thorin raised his head at his presence and didn’t seem too bothered. 

“Bofur,” he said in a morning greeting, taking his steaming mug of tea only Bilbo or Dori would have made for him and took a sip. 

Bofur saluted him jovially with half the effort. “Mornin’!” he smiled and fixed his hat as a nervous habit. “What are you looking for?”

Thorin sighed, setting his mug back on the table. “Nothing in particular. Another route, perhaps, than the Forest Road. Beorn tells me, however, that we cannot leave that path unless we want to be lost in Mirkwood. Being on that path makes us more open to the elves,” he said patiently at first then his words went a little bitter on mentioning his eternal enemies, but he remained tired looking, his eyes however were bright and awake. Maybe being a leader to a Company and a king of exiled people really did not weigh well. He looked a fine image of a dwarf exhausted with his shortcomings and Bofur sympathized with him because he felt much the same. 

Bofur nodded, twisting the bowl around on the table. “D’you have a moment? From looking at a map,” he tried smiling a little to show he was being lighthearted about it.  
Thorin didn’t say anything but lifted the map form his legs and rolled it up, looking at Bofur expectantly. He swallowed thickly, taking that as a sign that Thorin allowed him to continue, and he hoped that his heart hammering in his chest wasn’t so obvious. “You may know already since half the Company has already stuck their noses into it, but, uhm… well, you see… ahh, Fíli, your—your nephew, I, uhm… I have an interest in him? A deep one. And I wanted tooo talk to you about… about courting him, I suppose? Yeah. Because that’s what’s proper. Of course,” he scrunched his face up at the end, wishing he didn’t sound so ridiculous or pathetic, scrubbing his face with his hands in embarrassment. Usually his charm came right to him and he could speak so easily, but with Thorin his mind went blank and he found himself fumbling. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

Opening an eye, he saw Thorin looking rather amused, as amused as he could get without outright laughing. There was a smile there, however small, so Bofur dropped his hands and thanked his poor luck he wasn’t a total idiot. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me,” Thorin said lightly, holding his mug with both hands on the table, rings like post studs on his fingers. 

“I know, I’m just…,” he shrugged unhelpfully. 

“You don’t really need my permission do you, though? You’ve already got his braid, and he’s got yours,” he nodded with his head to the one little braid that blended with the bigger one. Bofur blushed furiously. “Fíli is not my son, but, I raised him with Dìs since he was a mere dwarfling. I will always see him and Kíli as my sons but yet as my nephews. It is a complicated business. But I taught him to assess his own thoughts, to follow what he thought to be right and to do whatever needed to obtain his goals. On top of that, he’s also rather free-willed. He’s old enough to make his own decisions and to follow them, as are you. So, you don’t so much as need my permission but my blessing, is that not so?” Even on such a subject as this, Thorin spoke with such position and regality Bofur couldn’t help but feel shrunken. He had never even laid eyes on a royal until Thorin and his lot showed up in town, but then again, even then they were humble and average-looking, just trying to scrape by like his own family. Only when he found out the smith’s Longbeard lineage did it all make sense. 

Bofur swallowed again, tracing the grain of the table absentmindedly. “Yes, I suppose. Whatever it is.”

“I give it.”

He paused, looking up at Thorin like he had grown two heads. He blinked, bewildered and trying to comprehend what he said. Thorin continued looking at him even when he brought the mug to his mouth again. “What?” Bofur huffed, hoping he wasn’t jumping ahead to anything hasty. 

“I give my blessings to you both,” Thorin replied evenly, still looking amused if not smug. “You’re a good dwarf, Bofur. If half the Company has stuck their noses into it, then you can count me among them. I’ve heard most of it from Bilbo, but I’ve known since Rivendell. Admirable if not a little haphazard,” Thorin said and Bofur snorted, hardly believing what was being said. “Aye. And you and your family were among the first to accept my call to this quest. You have immeasurable honor and a willing heart, that is all I could ever ask for a suitor to my nephew and heir.”

Bofur sputtered. “Thorin. I… I’m not sure what to say. You play me up too much!’

Thorin shook his head resolutely. “No, I do not think so. I know a good dwarf when I see one, and you fit the quota nicely.”

“I certainly do not!” Bofur nearly cried, far too incredulous for normal speech. This was too good, a king approved of him! A _king!_ “I-I’m a miner and a toymaker, I’m hardly a royal or even a Longbeard, Thorin! Broadbeams are far beneath your get!”

Thorin actually chuckled. Is that what he sounded like laughing? “Do you think that clan business has anything of importance now? It was not Firebeards or Ironfists or Stonefoots who answered me. No, it was you Broadbeams of Khazad-dûm and the few kin I have left to me. None of that matters now or will ever matter,” he leaned slightly forward to continue, a seriousness overcoming his voice. “As long as you treat him well and give him all respects and your whole heart, I will have no issue. None. And if you can handle his stupidity now and then, maybe get his feet back on the earth from floating around with his brother, I will consider that an added quality.” 

Bofur chuckled with astonishment, hardly able to keep the smile off his face. “Aye, I think I can do that.”

“Good. Now, he’s with his brother at the forge, hopefully they haven’t destroyed it yet,” Thorin took another scroll nearby and leaned back into the chair, unwinding it. 

“Thank you,” Bofur said a little quietly, all too earnest and sincere, still bewildered Thorin hadn’t heard his blood thrumming wildly yet. 

“Aye,” Thorin replied, now focused on whatever contents the map showed him. Bofur happily took his dismissal and turned and slid off the bench to walk to the forge with a bounce in his step. He whistled as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its my birthday today, so in typical hobbit fashion, here is another chapter installation as my gift to you :) (and no, I did not wait this long to post on my birthday, ahah). There's also two and a half more chapters here at Beorns and then we finally move on.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I love all your comments so much!


	20. Hundred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hundred - The Fray
> 
> Fili is frustrating sometimes.

Truthfully, Fíli had thought a lot about Bofur in the last few days, not only because he was concerned about him and the side of him he had never expected, but also his not-so-innocent thoughts that were inspired from the first time they were close. Actually _intimate_. He mostly pushed those thoughts away, though, because they were not as important as making sure Bofur was alright, but they were awfully consuming when he found himself thinking about them at the most inconvenient of times. 

He was in the forge with Kíli when he nearly smashed his thumb thinking too deeply. He had also dropped the tongs more than once in the dip basin and his brother was having a great time sniggering about it. Fíli glared at him intensely but turned away, preferring to not engage Kíli. He remembered Bofur’s honeyed words and meanings and what it all entailed, and figured it sounded really very appealing even if he wasn’t sure how it all worked out. He scrunched his face with a noise of frustration on his downswing.

Was there a special technique that had to be done? Did Bofur know it? He probably did, he was knowledgeable about these kinds of things (not that Fíli wasn’t, not really, just he knew more about women than men). Would it hurt? Fíli had sort of an idea how… it happened, but he was, for lack of better words, rather _tight_ down there. And Bofur was very nicely endowed. Bofur made it sound really good, really, really good, so it must not hurt that bad. Fíli wished he wasn’t so inexperienced. He had to wonder if it was at all a strange thing to do or if it was completely normal between two men. But some of his friends back home preferred men and told him stories of having tumbles in the hay or in the tool shed. They didn’t mention, however, their sore bums, but Fíli found that out simply by inferring and watching them sit uncomfortably in chairs or the saddle.

Kíli wouldn’t stop pestering him about his blushing cheeks or how he seemed to drift off sometimes, saying how absolutely lovesick he looked (how could Kíli know what that looked like? He _didn’t_ , that’s why, as Fíli reminded himself). Fíli rolled his eyes and continued hammering the arrowhead into shape until it was ready to be sharpened. 

“I can just as easily throw this at you as you open your mouth,” Fíli threatened, looking up at Kíli with annoyance through loose and sweaty blond hair. 

Kíli raised his brows and let out a low whistle. “Don’t get so hasty, brother! I haven’t even asked you about your intimate moments yet.”

Fíli raised the hammer like he was about to throw it in warning, and was pleased when Kíli ducked behind the grindstone. “That’s right,” he mumbled, then lowered the hammer down in a great strike, moving the arrowhead with tongs to the basin of water where it hissed. 

“So about your intimacies with Bofur—“

“Stop it!”

“Is he good? Does his mustache get in the way? How about the hat? Do you _like_ it? Do—“

“Actually, I’ve gotten his mustache braids in my mouth more than once,” Bofur said suddenly, making both brothers spin around in surprise at his unexpected arrival. Bofur chuckled heartily against the door frame of the tool shed door, his arms crossed and his head tilted with a crooked grin. Fíli threw his head back and outright groaned and Kíli guffawed, clutching his sides in laughter. 

“He hits himself sometimes when he talks!” Kíli added, finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

Fíli turned to Bofur and gave him a displeased glare. “Why’d you have to go and say that? Now he won’t ever shut up!”

Bofur strolled inside and perched himself up on a counter with an unhelpful and half-committed shrug, chuckling warmly. “It doesn’t really bother me telling him stuff like that, but if you don’t want me to I’ll keep my mouth shut! It’s not like I’m ashamed or anything.” 

Fíli slumped and turned back to the anvil, knowing Bofur had a point, but he still muttered about unsavory things to throw at his brother. Kíli grinned at him with gossipy hints, and Bofur was just far too pleased to really care much at all. 

“So Thorin’s okay,” the miner said offhandedly, scratching his thumb through his bandages. 

Fíli was in the middle of taking a swing when Bofur spoke, so when the hammer made contact with the anvil it almost jumped right out of his loose grip. He turned around to Bofur with an open face cracked in two with a grin, and he did drop the hammer. Kíli stared blankly at them while they stared at each other, unsure of what they were on about, at least until Fíli ran to Bofur and threw his arms around his neck in a flourish. 

“Are you serious?!” Fíli exclaimed into his shoulder. 

“Entirely serious!” Bofur replied in a like voice, his arms tight around Fíli’s back. 

“See, I told you! He wouldn’t smite you. I told you!” Fíli almost squealed, pulling back only to kiss Bofur fiercely. 

Kíli, on the other side of the forge, made a face. “So maybe I don’t want to know your intimacies if you’re going to be so mushy about it.”

Fíli made a gesture behind his back and Bofur raised his hat straight off his head but neither moved to stop. Kíli grumbled and purposefully made all the noise he could while pumping the pedal of the grindstone to file the ready arrowheads into fine points. After a minute, Fíli stepped away from between Bofur’s knees and went back to the anvil, giving Kíli a look ripe with boasting and his brother responded by sticking his tongue out and glaring at him. 

Bofur wandered over to Fíli’s anvil every now and then and would put a quiet hand on his hip when he whispered into his ear, making the prince grin stupidly while he hammered away. He untied his apron once and earned a swat to his arse as he past, responding with a wink. Bofur pumped the bellows to try and help but he was mostly detrimental to Fíli’s focus, giving him hilarious expressions of over-done seduction, and once he licked his lips so obscenely Fíli burst out into fits of laughter. Eventually Kíli kicked them out so work could actually be done (even if they were almost finished), nearly shooing them out with the broom. The two of them happily went, but not before Fíli took off his dirty apron to throw it at Kíli’s face, scampering off with Bofur in tow before his brother could give him any respite.

Getting to the grove behind the apple trees would have been a lot more productive if they weren’t tripping over each other or pulling eagerly at their clothes.

“I want to—hear everything,” Fíli said in between kisses, pressed up against the barn wall. 

“So—Thorin said that he—approves,” Bofur replied, pulling away from the wall and walking backwards around it with Fíli dogging his steps. 

“Tell me later,” the prince said and took Bofur’s wrist to pull him to the gardens with a grin and where he leapt to kiss him once more. _Thorin is actually alright with it. He approves_ , Fíli thought excitedly, smiling through quick pecks. 

“Is your mind—ever made up?” Bofur chuckled, walking Fíli backward through the designated paths carefully to avoid stepping on anything, having to peek an eye open most of the time to know where he was going. 

“Not really. But it’s now. Completely—made up,” he replied in a deep lusty tone that stirred a fire in Bofur’s belly. Fíli’s eager fingers pulled at the laces of his tunic at the base of Bofur’s throat ever more intently. 

Finally, past the apple trees where they could be alone, Fíli guided Bofur to the ground and then crawled on top of him to straddle his legs. Still sitting up, Bofur raised his head with parted lips that Fíli took sweetly, however, when Fíli managed to loosen the neck of his tunic and wriggle it out from the confines of his belt, their mouths had to part for Bofur to pull it over his head. He made quick work of Fíli’s tunic and tossed it somewhere in the direction of his own, then let his hands fly to the prince’s warm skin. He dragged his roughened palms along the deep ridges of his back and the contours of his hips, marveling his strong build and how his muscles tensed beneath his hands as he shifted in his lap. 

Bofur left Fíli’s mouth to plant kisses down the blondish stubble-covered column of his neck, along his collarbone and then to the center of his chest where he let his mouth linger in heavy kisses. Fíli’s eyes fluttered closed when Bofur’s palms curved the round of his arse and pressed, sending a delightful swoop to his stomach as he simultaneously sighed and grinded his hips downward where he could actually feel the miner hardening beneath him. Not one minute ago there was a buldge to be felt, but at the mere thought of his arousal Fíli felt his own groin stiffen. Tentatively, feeling awkward with limited knowledge on how to move his hips properly, he rolled them in a swivel so they rubbed together through their trousers with most of his weight on his knees. It felt far too jerky so he focused once again and it felt much more fluid. Greatly to his pleasure Bofur shuddered with a breathy sigh against his chest, making the hairs there tickle. A new confidence flared in Fíli at that reaction, utterly satisfied he could get that response out of him, so he did it again and this time Bofur’s hands swooped down to hold his hips and help guide him with a low, humming grumble to his throat.

With a whimsical grin, he took Bofur’s hat off his head and plunked it right on his own. Bofur raised his flushed face to see Fíli holding the flaps down against his cheeks, looking rather silly and adorable. “Fits you well,” Bofur said in a gravelly voice full of fondness, smirking crookedly. Fíli saw that sudden flare of playfulness in his eyes, usually borne from something he thought intriguing (or he was working up for a snarky one-liner).

Fíli raised a brow and let the flaps go, looking far more seductive than he knew, and Bofur’s cock did a nice thrum that made his smirk twitch upwards. “Does it? ‘Fraid it’s mine now.” Fíli teased smoothly.

Bofur snorted. “Makes you look like a lunatic, really,” he said against the dip of Fíli’s throat and collarbone, gently biting the skin. Fíli gasped and arched upwards, pressing further down with another hip swivel. 

“Just like you, then?” Fíli asked in a tight voice, his fingers digging into the muscle of Bofur’s shoulders, heat swirling in his gut when the dark-haired dwarf snaked his fingers around the small of his back and played along the hem of his trousers, dipping through the thumbprint dimples. Fíli shivered as it tickled but stifled a laugh.

“Far more beautiful, ‘sides the hat,” he replied and then threw it off his head behind him. “Gets in the way,” he briefly said before pressing his mouth more purposefully on his skin. His determination to constantly have his lips on his skin was rather arousing and the prince couldn’t help but burn at each kiss. 

Fíli smiled and said no more, leaning backward on a hand that he stabilized on Bofur’s thigh but pulled the miner to him with an arm around his shoulders. There was a low hum in Bofur’s throat, spreading his legs apart just a little so Fíli slotted very nicely against him. Fíli rolled his head back when he did so and Bofur’s mouth became more insistent on his neck, at least until Fíli spoke next. “How do you start? The whole sex thing? How do you do it?” his voice left his mouth in wisps of air than anything else, still catching in his throat despite his efforts. 

Bofur furrowed his brows and stopped his mix of kissing and soft biting to look up at the prince. “Would you like to know?”

“That’s why I’m asking,” Fíli replied a little shortly, impatient for such obvious questions. 

“Oh. Alright then.” Bofur wrapped his arms around Fíli’s back to support him as he laid him to the ground. “Off with your trousers.”

Fíli blinked vacantly but lowered his hands to the strings of his garment but Bofur did so instead, quicker and more efficient than what he would have done. “I’m going to be completely naked!” Fíli protested weakly, blushing a fierce shade of red across his cheekbones that was really quite becoming of him. 

“Well, your tunic’s already off,” Bofur replied unhelpfully but his voice was careful, stating the obvious. 

“They can’t be halfway down?” Fíli asked in a small voice, knowing he was being childish and probably looking just as such. 

Bofur smiled softly, finding it utterly endearing. He sat back and let his hands move to rest on Fíli’s strong thighs. “It’ll be a thousand times easier if they’re off,” he said with slight apprehension, then added, “but if you don’t want them off, that’s fine too. I’ll be able to manage, seeing as I’ve done this thing before in the middle of winter in a snow bank in full clothing, but—that doesn’t matter. Whatever you want,” he shrugged and winked at him. 

_Well, there’s nothing to be done for it_ , Fíli decided, moving his hips upwards to slide off his trousers over his arse, and Bofur brought his hands down to help bring them over his legs. He tried to keep his eyes focused on Fíli’s face, and he did well until the trousers were to his ankles and then they were off. He set his feet back on the ground gingerly, splayed out in front of him so true and honest and wholly himself, Bofur thought his heart exploded in his chest for a moment. 

“Mahal, Fíli, you’re perfect,” Bofur said with amazement, the words sliding out of his mouth without thought. His eyes scrolled down his face over his broad chest, down the planes of his stomach that tensed as he breathed and lifted himself onto his elbows, his sharply muscled hips and the thatch of honey-gold hair in between his legs, the same that covered his chest and down his navel in a stripe. “Seven Fathers, you have nothing to be embarrassed for, my heart, nothing,” his voice was a breath, moving upwards to kiss Fíli deeply, and the prince made a small noise at the back of his throat full of appreciation as his hands flew to his hair. 

Positioned over one leg, Bofur had roomy access to the rest of his body, and with his uninjured hand he stroked it through the coarse hair on his chest, down to his stomach and pointedly ignoring his red and stiff erection lying on his lower belly, all the while kissing him tenderly and passionately. He allowed Fíli time to get used to being naked and totally exposed to him because he knew that kind of nervousness (and it was written all over Fíli’s face when he took his trousers off); it happened to everyone. After a few minutes of such touches and kisses, Bofur pulled back and looked into Fíli’s eyes, hardly able to contain his love for him for he was so irrationally beautiful. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his hand stilling on his waist. Even if he wasn’t, he would be alright to simply be with him, with or without clothing. If Fíli wanted it, he would put all his clothes back on and bundle him in coats and blankets and he would still be content. 

Fíli nodded, swallowing through his short breaths. “Yes. Very much.”

Bofur smiled while reaching to his pocket to pull out the bottle Òin had given him, putting his weight onto one elbow. He held up the bottle so Fíli could see. “This is a special oil. It’ll help with everything a lot better because us men are inferior and we don’t produce our own stuff to make it easy, if you get my meaning.”

Fíli chuckled and nodded, glad Bofur was so utterly kind and patient and so good to him. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and managed to clumsily pour a small amount into his good hand. “Spread your legs a little, love,” Bofur asked gently, bringing his hand past his erection and Fíli did so, nearly jumping when his fingers nudged against his core and swirled to spread the oil around and coat his fingers. 

“Oh. That’s mighty interesting,” Fíli mumbled with raised brows, clutching the back of Bofur’s tunic and curling his toes, searching the leaves above for nothing in particular.

“Alright?” Bofur stopped to ask, finger pausing in the cleft of his arse, searching his face for anything that told him to stop. Fíli only nodded his head and shifted his hips a little. 

“Keep going.”

He did so, simply at the moment nudging and rubbing him gently, kissing his neck softly and sending shivers all down Fíli’s spine. Then, he poked his finger in a little and Fíli furrowed his brows, confused at the feeling but finding it not so bad. His face relaxed and Bofur saw this, and also observed the rest of him loosen and sink into the ground, giving him much needed relief. Taking it as a sign to continue, he put his finger in halfway in and then pulled it mostly out, doing a few more strokes until he pulled just a little on his way out with a curl of his finger. Fíli hummed and rolled his head to the side. 

“This is good,” he more or less whispered, smiling before Bofur craned his head to take his mouth, moving his hand now with more purpose. 

Then he teased a second finger in but didn’t pause to prevent an uncomfortable burn, curling his fingers just a little to try and search for that sweet spot. When Fíli gasped and moaned at the same time with a weird sort of twitch to his hips and legs, he knew he found it. 

“What was that? _That_ is really good, yes,” his voice slipped past his kiss-reddened lips in a beautiful sound, his lower half moving in rhythm to his fingers for a few long moments. Bofur pressed his lips to his throat, feeling vibrations when he moaned again at yet another tantalizing peg. “So— _ahh_ , so good.”

Bofur quickened his pace a little, relentlessly prodding that spot while Fíli wriggled beneath him in a pleasure Bofur was the first to give him. He felt a little prideful at that, warmth flaring louder in his groin but he did his best to ignore it, all too focused on Fíli at the moment to give a damn about himself. He promised to make his prince’s pleasure star-blinding. 

Fíli knew his peak was close by, telling by the way his stones felt tight and warm, still amazed anything like this would be so blessedly wonderful. He had no idea there was a spot inside him that when touched sent sparks up the small of his back and through to his cock, or how he felt so full and tight with just fingers in him. He thought about how it would feel with _Bofur_ like this, doing this, but so much better and so much lovelier, he nearly lost his mind. He didn’t know that he could be driven to his orgasm by his cock hardly being touched, but Bofur knew exactly what to do, how to make him feel so good and so important and wanted. 

Fíli arched his back and grinded his teeth and pushed his heels into the ground, his heart hammering like a beast in his chest and then suddenly something opened up like a bloom. _Bofur, gods, you are lovely, so… so just_ … “B-Bofur, ohh, I… I love…”

His eyes shot open and suddenly it felt like Mahal had fashioned his head into an anvil and let fly a mighty stroke that sent such stunning vibrations down the very length of his body. It felt like someone had shouted down a tunnel and it echoed for miles and miles. It felt like everything made sense for a long moment in time and Fíli couldn’t find a foothold until he knew exactly what it was he meant to say. Then suddenly that scared him. 

He rolled away from Bofur and leapt up in a flurry, wildly searching for his clothes though his head felt detached. Bofur sat up in complete shock, his stomach dropping to the pits of the earth and Fíli had never seen anyone more horrified. His blood went to ice but that only propelled him to get further out of there. 

Bofur sputtered the first few attempts at speaking, and the first meaningful words to come out of his mouth were, “I’m sorry!”

Fíli didn’t hear him, throwing on his tunic backwards in a fit of madness and tripping into his trousers. Bofur remained in the grass, immobilized with terror and shame and other things he didn’t understand. “I’m so sorry! What did I do wrong? Fíli, please! Fíli!” Bofur shouted after him as he ran through the trees, gone in the blink of an eye. 

\--

He ran to the outside spring and barely took off his tunic and trousers, once again, in time before jumping right in. 

It was far too hot for his already burning and thrumming body but it helped to clear his mind of his sudden panic. He resurfaced into the cooler air and spat the water out of his mouth and spluttered to catch his breath in shallow coughs. He rubbed at his eyes and scrubbed his beard, wondering what on Eru’s good earth _happened_. 

“What the fuck…,” he grumbled, not one to swear so easily but, Seven Fathers, how his body suddenly reacted like he was waking up to falling into the goblin caves again; his body told him to _go_. He didn’t even question it. He shot up and ran like a bloody fool. He ran frightened, of what he wasn’t quite sure, but there was a revelation of infinitesimal proportions that this courtship with Bofur, the things they were doing (and in the middle of) was immensely important to him. That Bofur was immensely important to him. He had never felt like that before, or that he could hold such care and affection for someone who wasn’t his family. And _that_ scared him. 

And he felt completely ashamed because he had thrown that accusation at Bofur only a few nights ago (who thoroughly denied such claims), and now here he was, fretting over exactly that.

There was a low cough from somewhere to his left, and spinning towards it, Fíli saw Nori and Kíli both looking at him like he grew two heads. “What are you looking at!” Fíli demanded in a shrill voice, surprising himself with how absurd he sounded. 

Nori raised his brows and had the nerve to laugh, his long russet hair flowing down his chest into the murky water while Kíli looked more or less like a drowned cat, furrowing his brows and frowning. “A nutter, apparently,” his brother replied and Nori nodded in agreement.

“I am not!” Fíli said a little more normally this time, his face getting hotter at their confused stares. 

“Right! You come in here like orcs are on your tail an’ throw off your clothes in a fit, then shriek at us!” Nori chuckled while shaking his head, carding his fingers through his waist-length hair and shaking his head. 

“Where’s Bofur?” Kíli asked, and Fíli hated him more at that moment than ever. “You just ran off with him an hour ago, and—“

“Kíli, shut up! Just—just—shut up!” Fíli exclaimed, raising his hands and splashing water, squeezing his eyes shut and wildly shaking his head. 

Nori and Kíli went quiet, giving each other sidelong glances and pursing their lips while Fíli turned away from them, going back underwater. He held his breath and sat there, curling his knees upwards and listened to his blood thrum in his ears. When his chest grew tight, he stood back up and brushed the water from his eyes. 

“Did he do something?” Nori asked casually but there was a hint of caution to his voice, pulling a comb through the ends of his hair. 

“No,” Fíli said quietly, still facing away from them at the forest beyond the spring. Some birds flew between the trunks, singing, and then disappeared into the leaves. Fíli sighed, slumping down into the water and making bubbles with his mouth. 

“What happened, then?” Kíli asked, using a bar of soap to run through his chest hair. 

Fíli turned back around, face still half emerged in the water, and he gave Kíli a cold look before moving to find a boulder to sit on. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he mumbled in reply, deciding that while he was wet he should bathe as well since it has been nearly a week, and he had been in the forge. He took out all his clips and beads and set them in a pile behind him near to the wall of the bath house, threading his fingers through his braids to loosen them.

“ _Ohh_. Yeah, I probably don’t,” Kíli said when he realized what he meant. 

“You were doing somethin' together?” Nori asked with a smirk, already knowing half the answer by the way Fíli reacted at his question, his ears turning red. 

“I suppose, yeah,” he said offhandedly, hating Nori’s snigger and shit-eating grin. 

“So skipping the nasty parts, what happened then?” Kíli inquired, looking far too concerned for his own good. He always wanted to know everything and Fíli’s problems most of all, only to help as best and however he could, and even though it annoyed him sometimes Fíli often did confide in him. Fíli would do the same for his brother in a heartbeat because they were the only brothers they had. He was a little wary of talking to Nori about it, but he and Bofur were close friends so he thought it couldn’t hurt. Just in case, however, he gave Nori a cautionary glare that spoke of the tips of daggers and the thief only shrugged. 

“It’s not anything serious, really… just… I realized something but it felt like Mahal hit my head, I don’t know,” Fíli rambled, feeling utterly ridiculous and avoiding their eyes. “I felt like my heart was going to come out of my mouth, but it all felt so right, but I was suddenly scared so I kind of just… fled.”

“And came here? You big, stupid idiot!” Kíli shouted in exasperation at him, splashing him with a shallow spray of water. “Bofur’s probably wondering what happened!”

“An’ pullin’ his hair out because he’ll think he did something wrong,” Nori added, looking too smug, but his face had relaxed and he looked at Fíli like he knew exactly what happened. “He’s important to you.”

Kíli had opened his mouth to say something more but he snapped it shut when Nori spoke, spinning his head to look at him. His hair flew about his head in stringy tendrils when he went to look at Fíli, who nodded and stared down at the water. Kíli groaned. “Oh, Fíli, you even bigger idiot!” he exclaimed. 

Fíli scrunched his face up and splashed him. “Enough! I know!”

Kíli splashed him back in retaliation. “Don’t tell me ‘enough’! You just ran from him in the middle… because you realized he was _important_ to you? Durins’ beard! If there was ever a more stupid reason, I have yet to hear it! You git! Seriously?”

Fíli groaned louder and gripped his hair. “YES, I know!” 

“Shut up, Kíli,” Nori said to him in a much more even tone, the youngest prince crossing his arms. “What do you plan on doing about it, lion prince?” he asked, one brow arching curiously as he regarded the eldest prince, slumped halfway in the water and looking far too distressed for someone who realized good news. 

Fíli pinched the space between his brows and chewed his lip. He lowered his hand and looked aimlessly at the water, not speaking for a few minutes while he thought about it. His frustration and anger seeped out of him like the clouds of dirt and soot in rings around him. “Nothing yet. I’m a coward for running, but...,” his voice trailed off and he sighed heavily through his nose. “Something soon, hopefully. Once I get my mind sorted.”

Fíli bathed quickly without another word, scrubbing intently on himself and hardly listening to Kíli and Nori talk about stupid things and what dwarves do about them but Fíli was lost to the devices of his own thoughts. He dried himself and dressed, ignoring whatever it was Kíli said to him even though he sounded concerned, leaving the bath house soundlessly. 

He didn’t see Bofur on his way to the longhouse like he hoped, and he didn’t see him inside either so he went to his cot and curled in the blankets. Faintly on the pillows he could smell Bofur’s scent from where he laid his head earlier that day, and it made Fíli miss him terribly, and half hate himself for being so childish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments! It makes me cry with joy, alongside the prospect of me getting the Hobbit Extended Edition to me in 10 days time :) Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think!


	21. Michicant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michicant - Bon Iver
> 
> Bofur and Fili make up, and it turns out better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the whole weird freak out thing is too brushed over, but I guess it ends up not being a big deal with them because, you'll see. It's good. I promise. 
> 
> Thank you all for your great comments! They helped me to think more closely to how I want the story to come off sounding and being to you, so I'm beyond appreciative. I'm also really very grateful some of you have stuck around for this long, and I want to give you all hugs! Thank you for reading!

Bofur didn’t seek Fíli out, and Fíli reluctantly avoided Bofur. The miner half believed that he was done with him but the rest of him knew that the lad was sorting things out by himself— _for whatever godforsaken reasons_ —and wanted to be left alone. A part of him was fine with that, another part wanted to find him and shake some sense into him for messing around. Didn’t Fíli know that Bofur was nearly driving himself mad by leaving like he did? He looked terrified! In the middle of it! 

Bofur busied himself the next day by whittling out a pipe for him in apology, for whatever it was he did but he figured he’d apologize anyway. It turned out to be a very nice pipe, beautifully carved with geometric patterns close to his old one that had gotten lost in the goblin caves, and with just a bit of sanding and some paint or stain, it would turn out marvelous. He would have given it to him-- _if he could only find him_. 

Bofur vented to Bifur and Nori about it but his old friend wasn’t much help because he said things in cryptics and his cousin mostly blabbered nonsensically of Fíli being young and whatnot, so Bofur didn’t understand anything either of them were saying. The thief threw his hands up and told him Fíli was hiding in his cot but when Bofur was suddenly reluctant to go to him, both his cousin and friend smacked his head and yelled at him in two different tongues that he was the flakey idiot. Bofur eventually had it up to his mustache of getting his ears chewed off so he stomped off to the bath house to finally take his bath. 

He sank into the water with his hair unbraided and naked and he wished he didn’t have to find the muttonheaded suitor of his. Fíli drove him bonkers, really, really bonkers sometimes. _It’s like I’m back to my twenties_ , Bofur thought with a grimace, dipping his head under the water to rinse out the suds. _I was young once too, I suppose. But I wasn’t nearly as dramatic_.

What if Fíli was actually done with him? Did he regret anything? Bofur cringed, the thought of Fíli deciding they were done was too difficult, it made him sick. His throat hurt at the conception of the idea. Was it something to do with his One? Maybe it was telling him that Bofur was utterly wrong for him. He shuddered despite the radiating warmth of the spring. _Too many invested stakes. Too much risk. I knew it. I knew this would happen. No… Fíli wouldn’t do that. He’d say something first. He would_.

Wouldn’t he?

Bofur rinsed out his hair better and scrubbed himself down while trying to rid his brain of such terrible ideas, but he grumbled to himself about them anyway. He ran a sheet through his hair and over his body after he climbed out before getting his clothes back on, doing it all without really thinking about it. His mind was too preoccupied to really give much of a damn what a mess his hair was when walking out of the bath house. 

He wasn’t expecting Fíli to be sitting on his own cot, either, when he got to their bedding area for his comb. He almost looked like he was waiting for him, which made Bofur feel a little better, but to tell him what? His stomach turned a little. 

Fíli offered him a half-committed smile but quickly lowered his eyes to his knees, his hands gripping the bedding and the edge of the cot tight enough Bofur could see that his knuckles were white. He turned away from him and tried to steady his breath and found that he didn’t know what to say; that all the things he could have said were forgotten. He swallowed and it felt like he was gulping down his tongue. He looked down at the side table next to his cot and found the comb he was looking for among the collection of carvings he created since arriving at Beorn’s, along with gauze for his thumb. Holding the comb in his hand, he sucked up his pride and went to Fíli to hand the comb to him without a word and keeping his eyes downcast.

Fíli looked up at him with bright and wide eyes that looked too entirely surprised as if Bofur had handed him the composition for the First Song. He audibly gulped and gingerly took the comb from his hand and Bofur sat soundlessly on the floor in front of him between his knees. Bofur folded his lips between his teeth and started pulling on the ends of his mustache to get it into order. Fíli didn’t know what to think exactly of this offer, after what stupid thing he did, but he did say he would let him brush his hair. He was glad for it, but it made him confused. Maybe he wasn’t as mad as Fíli thought he would be? He had looked so upset when he left him in the grove…

Fíli started to gently tug on the ends of Bofur’s long hair, reaching just between the ends of his shoulder blades, careful not to tug too hard. Bofur sat as still as stone and didn’t utter a word for almost twenty minutes, and Fíli was just as quiet. 

Finally, until he was almost done, he whispered in almost nothing more than a breath, “It’s not your fault.”

Bofur almost slumped to the floor in relief just at his voice, but knew not to accept such words until he knew the meaning of them. “You ran like wargs were chasing you.”

Fíli made a sound of frustration in his throat like a snort, carding the comb through Bofur’s long, damp and untangled dark brown hair that he really actually liked a lot. He would love to comb his hair more often. “I know what you must think, but believe me when I say I’m not angry at you or having any second thoughts. I’m having a lot of thoughts, actually, and they’re all about why I was so stupid to run like that.”

Bofur made a sound of agreement but Fíli couldn’t blame him. He nervously tapped his fingers against his knees. “What was the problem, then? Did I do something wrong?” Bofur asked the air in front of him, hanging on Fíli’s every word like the branches of the pine tree he clung to for life only a few weeks ago. 

“You did nothing wrong, it was all me. You were wonderful,” the thoughts that had been raging in his mind all day came back with a force, making his head spin. “It’s uhm… it’s   
just,” _Why can’t you say it? Just say it!_ “I want to comb your hair more often. I want to put a braid in it every morning, to see you wear it because it tells others that you’re taken. I want to see you smile more than you already do, see you sing and laugh and pluck more goose feathers because you’re really good at it. I want to listen to your stories and watch you sleep and I love your deft hands and when they’re on me because it makes my stomach flip around in a good way,” Fíli sighed shakily, uncaring that he was ranting and toying with Bofur’s hair between his fingers, the comb forgotten on the cot. 

“I want you to show me things. I want to learn what you like best. I want… I want you. So badly. And I’m sorry. I just want to tell you that. I realized it and it may sound utterly stupid to you, and it really is, but it scared me. But it doesn’t anymore. So… I’m sorry,” he ended whispering, threading his fingers through Bofur’s hair near his skull through to the ends. Bofur moved and turned around, his eyes so damnably expressive and deep and thoughtful, searching his face like a map. Fíli smiled but Bofur continued looking pensively at him like he forgot speech entirely, his lips parting just a little. Seeing Bofur look so _not_ mad had Fíli’s heart flying and thrumming in his chest, and with Bofur’s ears poking out of his hair making him look so charming, it was all he ever needed. 

Bofur wordlessly got onto his knees and put his hands on either side of Fíli’s face and pulled him down for a searing kiss that had both of them warm down to their toes. Fíli wrapped his arms around Bofur’s shoulders loosely and soon he moved so he pressed Fíli’s back into the cot, flush together and their mouths hardly separate. Bees buzzed in their ears and they kissed, at least until a laugh bubbled out of Bofur’s throat and he had to lift his head to laugh into Fíli’s shoulder. 

“What?” Fíli asked curiously though he laughed as well. 

Bofur shook his head, his hands falling to fold around Fíli’s arms to hold onto shoulders. “You’re going to be the death of me. I’m going to die of a heart attack before we get anywhere, you know that?” he raised his face to smile at Fíli vividly, his eyes half lidded but so full of affection. 

“I’m really sorry. I’m reallyreallyreallyreallyreally sorry, I’m—“ Fíli started but Bofur shushed him with another kiss. 

“I want you, too. More than anything. More than you know,” Bofur whispered against his lips, and Fíli saw an unnamable burning flare in his dark eyes and that ignited something in Fíli’s bones. “Gods, please, just let me have you, don’t be afraid. You’re a twit but you’re my twit and I will have you by all the gods, I swear it, if you’ll let me,” Bofur muttered, his fingers winding into Fíli’s hair. 

Fíli couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. “And I say yes.”

Bofur relaxed at that, his brows losing their tension and he graced Fíli with a soft smile. Chastely, he kissed him but it was deep in its meaning, utterly vulnerable and affectionate and nothing short of loving. Fíli melted into him, holding him closer, a soft hum sounding deep in his chest that Bofur moved against, somehow able to put his knees into the cot and nudge their hips together. Fíli lifted a knee and pressed the back of his heel into Bofur’s thigh just beneath his arse, rolling his hips upwards teasingly. Bofur felt him beneath him and that was enough for him to follow, shuddering at the warmth that pooled in his groin and sighing against Fíli’s neck where he had been worrying his lips. Fíli smiled a little deviously when Bofur flicked his eyes upwards, seeing that attractive curl of his lips and he nearly growled with desire at the sight of it. 

“Can we… pick up where we left off? From yesterday?” Fíli’s voice was low as it gusted past his perfect pink lips, and looking up through his lashes, Bofur had never seen Fíli so openly flushed as he usually tried hiding it. Something tugged on Bofur’s stomach that told him to possess this prince, to wreck him until his frame shuddered with his name on his tongue. Needless to say, his cock rather liked the idea, but Bofur had more control than that. Only if Fíli wanted him to be controlled, that is. 

“Yes. Absolutely,” Bofur replied eagerly with his trademark crooked grin. Then he remembered how noisy they could get, and how there was so little privacy besides the wicker screen but that wouldn’t do much for their singing. “But—somewhere else, maybe? You know how loud you get.”

Fíli swatted his arm and Bofur snickered. Then his eyes lit up with a fantastic idea and he shoved Bofur off him suddenly. “Get some blankets,” he told him, really told him, and Bofur quickly hopped off the cot with so much speed to gather all the blankets off his bed one would think Fíli scared him, but it was really quite the opposite. He bunched them all up in his arms and Fíli had done the same to his own cot and with them piled in his arms, he could hardly be seen over them except for his legs, but he managed to flash Bofur a wide grin before leading them around the screen down the short hall to the back door. Ori looked up from his makeshift desk, a board set across two crates, and furrowed his brows when the two passed by. Bofur winked at him and Ori chuckled before looking back down to his parchment like he hadn’t seen a thing. 

They bounded toward the far side of Beorn’s compound to an arrangement of large flower bushes that looked out to a large field, the Misty Mountains far down the horizon. “I was here the other day watching bees and stuff,” Fíli told him when Bofur paused to take in the scene around him; the mountains far off, picturesque, tall and sloping trees that opened to the golden field with a wall of blooming bushes behind him with white flowers, butterflies lazily drinking nectar. He would have brought them to the grove if he was leading, but this was much better, much prettier, and it was a nice change. 

“We’re really that far away from the mountains now?” Bofur furrowed his brows and let his mouth hang while he figured out the math in his head, Fíli already laying down his collection of blankets. He shrugged. 

“We did walk that whole day to get here. Give me those blankets,” Fíli took the pile out of Bofur’s arms while he was busy watching the large bees hum by. 

“I’ve never been this far away from the Blue Mountains. Only to the River Lhûn,” Bofur said absently, helping Fíli lay down a blanket. 

“The farthest I’ve been was to Lake Evendim. I hardly remember it, though,” Fíli replied, then smiled with satisfaction at laying down the last blanket, putting his hands on his hips. “Well?” he looked at Bofur, hoping he could see a sign of what to do next on his face. 

Bofur smiled and moved to unbuckle his belt that kept his tunic to his body. Fíli returned the smile on the other side of the blanket-bed, raising his hands to unlace some strings from his tunic before pulling it over his head. Bofur followed suit after dropping his belt, but before Fíli could move to the laces of his trousers, he stepped forward onto the bed and took his hands between his own. He kissed each calloused palm, each tendoned wrist before moving them to rest on his hips. Fíli’s eyes sparked like thunder, holding tightly and digging his thumbs. Bofur’s smile was bemused when he brushed his hands past Fíli’s collarbone to move his glorious hair out of the way, letting his fingers graze the smooth skin of his shoulder. He delighted in the way his skin goose-prickled after that, holding in a fond chuckle.

Fíli pulled him closer by his hands still firm on his hips so they were flush together, Bofur only a little taller than him but Fíli didn’t mind, especially since Bofur’s elbows fit nicely on his shoulders when he wrapped his arms around him and bowed his head down for a kiss. 

Fíli nibbled at his lips between kisses, letting his teeth graze across them, and Bofur all but melted into him. He took a deep breath through his nose and Fíli noticed for the first time that he could feel his chest hair through his own, and feeling his warmth and the sheer joy of skin on skin was nothing short of astounding. He dragged his palms up his sides and Bofur wiggled a bit as if that tickled and Fíli laughed into his mouth. 

“Ticklish?” he mouthed against his lips, mustaches whisking together. 

“ _No_ ,” Bofur said solidly but Fíli saw the laughter in his eyes and his dimples on his cheeks trying to suppress a smile when Fíli moved his hands again. 

“No?” Fíli teased, Bofur squirming a little more. 

“Don’t do it or I swear I’ll kick you,” Bofur warned, trying to move out of his grasp but Fíli’s grip was tight. 

“But it’s cute,” Fíli whined mockingly, pressing a kiss to the edge of his mouth. 

“I’m not cute,” Bofur scoffed with knitted brows but it was half-committed, tugging on the back of Fíli’s head by his hair gently. He didn’t mention that what Fíli said made his heart do a little dance.

“To me you are, so you can shut up and kiss me,” Fíli mumbled and Bofur started to oblige, but he tripped Bofur’s feet out from under him, smirking at the utterly surprised look on the miners face. Bofur opened his mouth to say his protests but Fíli crawled over him catlike and pushed his shoulders into the bed with his knees on either of his sides.

Bofur guffawed, trying to make sense of his suddenly rapidly beating heart. “Are you just going to shove me around or what?” he tried to be serious about it, he really did, but he _liked_ it. He was quite unused to being the subordinate but Fíli was ridiculously _so attractive_ and it was actually entertaining and not absolutely terrible like it had been for him in the past. 

“Aye, I think so, at least until I want you in me again,” Fíli said in a deep voice while he laid heavy kisses on Bofur’s neck. Bofur’s hips did an involuntary swivel upwards into the crease of Fíli’s arse and the prince sniggered. 

Fíli took his time moving his mouth downwards, planting kisses here, dragging his teeth and tongue there, all the while his fingers brushing his skin with flames or holding steadfast. He let his nose trace a line between his sharp hips, his mustache and braids following, his lips feather-light above the hem of his trousers on sensitive skin. Bofur sighed heavily, his eyes sliding shut when Fíli’s fingers hooked into his trousers, having already unlaced them for the most part, to pull them down his arse and thighs to his knees and ankles. He laid small kisses all down his legs, slowly pulling his trousers off until they were free of his feet. Bofur looked down the length of his body, past the jarring sight of his bobbing prick to see Fíli drink in the view of him, set out like a dish to be devoured. 

“Ah, look at you,” Fíli said fondly, dropping the trousers and laying his palms on his thighs on either side of him. “You tell me I’m beautiful all the time but I don’t tell you frequently enough. You’re stupidly gorgeous,” he huffed out a laugh, trying to ignore how his cock stirred impatiently beneath his own trousers. 

Bofur made a ‘pfaugh’ noise, pursing his lips between his teeth and blushing harder than Fíli had ever seen him. “You take my breath away, d’you know that?” Fíli said to him, repeating what Bofur had said the night after the Carrock, and dragged his blunted nails up Bofur’s thighs to make him suck in a choked gasp. “Just the sight of you drives me mad, it makes my cock hard,” he lowered his mouth to the hollow of his hips right next to his prick with a tweak of his lips when Bofur raised his brows, and he was entirely oblivious to how his hair fell over it to make Bofur’s hands curl into the blankets. 

Fíli brought his hand to grasp the root of Bofur’s length, folding his lips over the tip and kissing deeply. Bofur groaned deep in his throat, relaxing into the bed and letting a hand weave through Fíli’s thick hair, spreading his legs a little wider. Fíli hummed so small it could hardly be heard, but having done this a few times he knew Bofur particularly enjoyed it. 

“You just really like… sucking like that, don’t you?” Bofur said to the air, his head back and facing the orange-colored sky but he didn’t see it, his eyes screwed shut. 

Fíli replied with an ‘mhm’ noise and Bofur moaned softly. Fíli continued to pull him in long strokes, his mouth playing with the end of him or swallowing him down almost all the way (he had been practicing). The moment Fíli lifted his head from him with a resounding _pop!_ , Bofur gripped Fíli’s arm and pulled him up his body so he could crash their mouths together. He rolled Fíli onto his back and quickly took off his trousers in a frenzy, Fíli’s feet almost getting caught in them but Bofur made sure he was bereft with a blind hand. 

Then they were entirely naked from head to foot, entwined in each other’s limbs and hot and sweating and they nearly lost themselves in the beauty of it. Fíli’s hands were flat and groping for purchase on the deep ridges of Bofur’s back, kissing languorously and deeply. Bofur reached for his trousers that held the bottle in his pocket, sneakily taken before leaving with blankets in arms, and at his movement his cock pressed hard against Fíli’s own between their stomachs and the prince audibly gasped. Bofur shivered at his hot flesh, nearly dropping the bottle as he fished it out. Fíli’s nails dug into Bofur’s shoulder blades when his oil slicked fingers nudged between his cheeks and rubbed probing circles around his core. Bofur kissed him hard and let his tongue into his mouth about the same time he slid a finger into him. 

Fíli keened into his mouth, digging his fingers into Bofur’s lovely unbound hair, raising up a knee to allow a better position. With his free hand Bofur tugged on their cocks between his spit-slicked hand and when Fíli released his mouth to suckle on the junction between neck and shoulder, he groaned and bucked his hips a little. 

“Ohhh,” Fíli moaned loudly, throwing his head back. Bofur moved his hips slowly again so the base of his cock met the head of Fíli’s, then all the way back down again, and the next time he did so Fíli joined him. He slid a second finger in and the blond’s eyebrows curved upwards, halfway knitted in his pleasure with his mouth agape. Bofur couldn’t hold back a whimper at the sight of him, his hair tousled and fanned behind his head; his golden prince was so disheveled and so beautiful he couldn’t have loved him anymore or his heart was like to burst with it. 

“You’re not going to run?” Bofur asked lightheartedly, already having forgiven him, but Fíli opened his eyes and looked at him in what seemed to be embarrassment. 

Fíli shook his head adamantly. “No, I’m not going to run. Not now, not ever again. I’m sorry, I—“

Bofur chuckled and nudged their noses together, their lips just brushing. “No more sorry’s. Just feel and let it take you.”

Knuckles just about buried in him, Bofur prodded that sweet spot and Fíli writhed with an accompanying shout of ‘Bofur!’ He buried his face into his neck and held him close, almost clawing at his ribs. He kissed up the column of his neck, Bofur’s throat vibrating with a low groan beneath his teeth until he reached his chin. Bofur couldn’t wait for his lips to meet his as they were sure to so he moved his face to catch his mouth. Their tongues slid together warm and wet while Bofur’s fingers picked up in pace into his arse. He soon lost strength for his other hand but Fíli was more than happy to take over, Bofur using his free elbow to hold himself up on the bed. 

“Bofur,” Fíli breathed in a hot puff of air on his cheek. “I n-need you in me, oh please, Bofur. You,” he said in a gravelly voice, his one hand sliding down his lower back to cup his arse. 

Bofur’s heart jumped to his throat and he gave him a look of utter incredulity, forgetting his current ministrations. “What? Are—are you serious?”

“I’m serious!” Fíli almost shouted but it broke into a groan when Bofur’s fingers hit his spot again when he picked back up. “I-I need _you_ , you daft miner!”

Mindlessly, and with already trembling fingers, Bofur took the bottle of oil he had set aside and brought himself to his knees between Fíli’s thighs. The prince lay panting as he watched him with livid blue eyes, roaming his body and the wispy patterns of dark hair, relishing the sight of him brushing oil on his cock, at least until he remembered where it would be going. He tried not to worry about it when Bofur’s fingers moved to slick more oil on his arse for good measure, putting full trust in Bofur to take care of him. With a shaky breath the miner put a warm hand on Fíli’s knee and pushed it a little more forward so it was almost halfway in touching his shoulder, and lined himself up with the other hand. 

“Ready?” he panted hoarsely and half believed that this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t real, and that Fíli was going to run away again. He didn’t though; he only nodded earnestly and tried out a wobbly smile while gripping onto his shoulders as Bofur pressed himself in. 

Bofur watched as Fíli furrowed his brows and bit his lip, craning his neck at the stretching. His hands squeezed on his shoulders and he brought the other knee to bend near Bofur’s side. Then it was too tight, Fíli wasn’t relaxing completely and it almost hurt, but Bofur kept his voice calm when he spoke. “You’re clenching, Fíli, try to relax. Let yourself relax, love.” 

Fíli nodded and swallowed, concentrating on relaxing and a few moments later it was easier for Bofur to press further in. “That’s it, good. Keep that in mind and soon you won’t have to remember,” Bofur assured with a breathy grin. Fíli contemplated the strange feeling, curious to how it felt to be so full, and blinking his eyes open he saw that Bofur was watching. Bofur pushed further until he was entirely buried and sliding against that spot, and _oh_. It was so amazing, how tight and warm and lovely he felt around him was mind boggling, his eyes sliding shut with a gusty sigh and a bow of his head. Fíli’s heart lurched at the sight of his hair falling over his shoulders, how he looked so completely enraptured in the connection and pleasure that it sent his head reeling and almost forgot about the burn when Bofur paused. Then it started hurting but Bofur knew to move, pulling his hips back until he almost left him, then heaved slowly back in. 

“ _Gods_ ,” Bofur huffed, his heart fluttering like mad in his chest. “Fíli. How is it?” he asked, opening his eyes through the fringes that fell across his eyes to see his face.   
His brows were upturned again, cinched together and he smiled, it was so pretty. “Good,” he then sighed, low and long, and pulled Bofur to his chest. “You can go faster, heart.”

He did so, finding a pace still slow enough to absorb all the wonderful feelings yet steady so it was twice as much. He used his hands in the blankets for leverage and balance until he tangled them into Fíli’s hair, relying on the strength of his muscles and knees in the bed to move as he pressed his chest and stomach flush against Fíli’s own. Bofur kissed his cheek and then the curve of his jaw while Fíli crossed his ankles over the small of his back, finding the pain subsided. Neither would last long, they both knew it was certain, not when _this_ was so good and so perfect and a thousand other things. 

Bofur moved in practiced rhythm, laying wet openmouthed kisses along Fíli’s collarbone, lifting the prince’s lower half partially off the bed so his upper back was in the blankets and more or less on Bofur’s knees. His hands moved to support him by holding his arse in his palms, his thrusts growing more heavy and desperate. Fíli keened loudly, now finding it easier to arch his back, and held Bofur’s head to his chest while he panted and moaned all at once. His prostate was being teased with every heave and it made his legs feel almost like jelly. 

Bofur cried into Fíli’s chest, holding him tighter and pressing forward harder with every heave so they slid upwards toward the flower bushes. Then, _then_ , that dizziness came to his head and he thrust deeper, losing his rhythm to messy movement. 

“I-I’m seeing stars,” Fíli said with a delirious smile, remembering what Bofur had described to him in an irrelevant number of days ago. His cock throbbed and he tightened his legs around Bofur when he felt his peak nearly hit him in the face. “O-Oh, Bofur, I’m about to come!—“ he writhed and let loose a strangled moan, quieter than his other verses while he spurt between their bellies in thick ribbons. 

Feeling Fíli clench and twist around him did Bofur in, shortly following him in a low guttural moan, heaving messily as he spilled himself. His teeth bit into Fíli’s sternum but he hardly seemed to notice, the prince’s hands flying above his head to fist into the blankets while they both rode down the waves. It was long moments before Fíli fell lax in Bofur’s arms and he had near emptied himself. Letting Fíli lay in the blankets, Bofur sat back on his heels and pulled himself out with quivering fingers and racing breath, a thin string of his seed from the tip of his cock to Fíli’s arse making him smile in a daze. 

Bofur lay on his side next to Fíli, their eyes meeting and sending unreadable messages in a foreign language known only to them as they chased their breath, bleary smiles becoming their lips. Bofur took a corner of one of the blankets to clean off their stomachs, his eyes still searching Fíli’s face as the prince searched his. The blond’s smile was lopsided but his dimples were gloriously obvious, so Bofur leaned his head down to kiss them and fold his prince into his arms. 

Neither spoke for a long while, Bofur nuzzling his nose into Fíli’s sweaty hair while the prince held onto the miners waist with a lazy arm, breathing in the scent of him that he grew to yearn for. The both of them laid in contented silence and nearly fell asleep to the sound of the birds singing in the night, until Fíli moved to pull a blanket over them as the sun had set long ago. Then he propped himself up on his elbow and gazed into Bofur’s weary face, smiling softly and carding his fingers through his wispy fringes tenderly.   
“Do you prefer women or men?” Fíli asked suddenly in a hoarse voice, spent and dry. 

Bofur chuckled at the question, tucking one hand beneath his head and gingerly dragged his nails along Fíli’s smooth back with the other and connected the moles there in constellations. “Must I choose?” 

“You can have a preference for either,” Fíli replied, now twirling Bofur’s long mustache between his fingers (Bofur really liked it when he did that). 

“Who do you prefer?” Bofur countered with a cocky smile. 

“ _Well_ ,” Fíli said and tilted his head. “Seeing as I’ve only had sex with two women until now neither times very spectacular, I’ve always preferred men.” 

“Even though you’ve never had sex with one until me?” Bofur sniggered.

“Yup,” Fíli replied immediately with a silly grin. 

“Ah, I’m very flattered! But I’ve had very good experiences with both so it’s hard for me to choose. I pick both. I like both, but I like you best,” Bofur replied honestly and winked, tracing Fíli’s shoulder blades and spine. 

“So I wasn’t bad?”

“No,” Bofur said quickly, making a face like Fíli had suggested an absurd idea. “Not at all, heart. I enjoyed myself very much, and I hope you did too,” he smiled warmly and Fíli giggled, dropping his head to Bofur’s chest for a moment. The miner kissed his hair with a fond hum, squeezing his shoulders with his arm. 

Fíli raised his head and swirled his finger speculatively in Bofur’s chest hair, puckering his lips while he formed his thoughts. “I have a question.”

“Aye?” Bofur stared at Fíli through the blue darkness provided by the half moon, delighting in the way he could make the strangest and yet the most marveling faces. 

He wanted to ask Bofur a thousand questions that sprang from his answer about preferring men and women, all ones that have sprouted in his head over and over. What about your wife? Why me? How do you have so much patience for me? Do you think of her when we’re together? Do you wish I was her, do you wish I was a woman? Do you—what about—was she—why—all his questions swirled in his head like a storm and he couldn’t pick just one. 

“What is it?” Bofur asked after a long minute, reminding him he hadn’t yet spoken. 

“I forgot,” Fíli said at last though he was unsatisfied. He realized he had no idea how to bring up the topic of his wife—his _dead_ wife. How does one do that?

Bofur only smiled, blissfully unaware of Fíli’s mind, threading his fingers into the snarled mess of gold hair at the base of his skull and pushing his head forward to kiss him but he didn’t have to push much. “Your brains have significantly dwindled since we’ve been together, you trouble-maker.”

Fíli smiled weakly and did his best to push his thoughts away for another day, a better day than now, especially since he was still wildly happy. “It’s not really my fault as must as it is yours.”

Bofur winced. “Ouch. Your tongue is sharp.”

“Ahh, but I use it well.”

“That you do.”


	22. Brackett, WI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brackett, WI - Bon Iver
> 
> The last night at Beorn's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I haven't been able to get back on the writing wagon for awhile, so I put off updating for the time being since I hate having a chapter up but nothing else to follow it. Luckily I've been writing again and I'm about to get back to it really soon, so good news! Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I appreciate it all so much! 
> 
> Also, if you'd like, you can take a peeksie at my blog peeeeeaches.tumblr.com, and I also have an art blog up at smuttypeaches.tumblr.com (NSFW will be up eventually, mostly bofur/fili stuff)
> 
> Some lines taken from Queer Lodgings in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein.

Fíli woke the next morning with a face full of brown hair, a deliciously warm hand on his cock and a scratching feeling on his neck. He blinked a few times, trying to desperately process all the sensations at once upon waking. There was a low rumbling in his throat as he stretched, almost an inquiring noise, but Bofur hummed a laugh against his neck, folding his lips around the apple in his throat. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Bofur said deeply, his lips and mustache tickling his skin to make Fíli giggle. He twisted his wrist a little, squeezing his hand just enough to make the prince sigh with a delirious smile. 

“So sappy already?” he teased in return, moving a leg sideways and tangling his fingers into Bofur’s soft hair. 

He snorted in reply. “You like it,” he said behind a smile, craning his head to kiss Fíli lightly on the mouth. 

Fíli’s hands slid down to grip his hips and he urged him to move on top of him so the miner obliged, his own morning wood eager and hot against his thigh. Fíli moved his legs a little more and Bofur’s cock slipped downwards so it laid against his stones and deliciously close to his sore but needy core. The blond moaned softly into Bofur’s mouth, arching his hips into his, yearning for more of his skin. Bofur released his cock and let it sit against his lower stomach while he reached for the oil, lying somewhere to his right, and playfully rutted his hips just so. Fíli made a noise in between a laugh and a sighing moan, his sword and forge roughened hands gracing over the miner’s ridged back. 

After preparing him so he was well and stretched, Bofur’s heaves were languorously slow, sleep still a fleeting thought. Their kisses were deep, touches full of affection and care and haste was forgotten for now. They took their time, finding the sensitive places on each other’s bodies they were still discovering, places that made them moan or laugh or send shivers from head to foot. They moved together until whispered names were loosed on red lips, until they were writhing in tangled limbs. It was slow coming for their pleasure to rise, but once it arrived it lasted in long minutes, stars and popping lights claiming their whole bodies in numbing rapture. 

Bofur laid on his side next to Fíli, panting and staring into his beautiful flushed face while he gazed back in tenderness and adoration. Bofur huffed a bemused laugh and snaked an arm around Fíli’s neck to pull him to his chest, kissing his forehead with heavy kisses. The prince draped his arm over his waist and tangled his legs into Bofur’s longer ones, smiling sluggishly and savoring the warmth and scent of him. 

They lounged for a long while, talking about absolute nonsense and enjoying each other’s company in their nakedness, Bofur singing a few songs to Fíli’s delight (earning himself a few sweet kisses) and the prince sang a few of his own. He told some tales of him and Kíli getting into trouble with the watchmen in the Ered Luin and the pub fights they had gotten into, and the bloody noses and bruised limbs their mother scolded them over. He also gave Bofur some tips on how to suck someone to completion and he listened with rapt attention, secretly putting the information away in his mind. Bofur explained some mining technicalities and determining structural integrity with stone-sense and where the best deposits could be found, but he changed the subject to something that required less thought, something random about Bombur and his strange cooking habits. 

“What about his children? How many does he even have, anyway?” Fíli asked abruptly with furrowed brows, pulling out a gray hair on Bofur’s chest without warning. Bofur jumped in surprise and swatted his hand away. 

“He has six. Four boys and two girls. Why don’t you ask him? He loves talking about them, he’ll talk your ear off once you get him going. Like Glòin, except less boring.”

“I like Gimli, he’s my cousin, y’know.”

“Aye, but he’s just _one_. If you listen long enough without reminding him, he’ll tell the same story three times in different ways each. Bombur can be like that too sometimes but he remembers everything his kids do so he has three times the stories. All of them are little rascals. They get that part from me,” Bofur sniggered. 

They laid in the rising sun for a while longer, listening to the birds renewing their chorus, singing sweetly to herald the sun. Their stomachs growled and then they remembered they had neglected supper from last night, suddenly ravenous for breakfast. Getting dressed took longer than it should have because they were constantly stealing looks and being rather teasing about it, and the whole effort was almost for naught when they started kissing once more. But before one thing lead to another Bofur broke apart and laughed while shaking his head, willing the heat in his groin to dissipate. 

Gathering the blankets in their arms once more, this time neatly folded, they went back to the side door in the longhouse. They returned the blankets to the respective beds and went together to the dining area to stuff their mouths with delicious food. 

Beorn was in the midst of telling the rest of the dwarves of his finding of a warg and a goblin roaming his lands the night previous. While he spoke, Bofur and Fíli slipped into the dining space as quietly as cats, settling onto the bench with a few sidelong glances from some of their companions but they were mostly unnoticed. 

“What did you do with the goblin and the warg?” Bilbo asked politely, if a little concerned, his spoon of porridge halfway to his mouth. 

“Stuck the goblin’s head on a stake outside my gate and the warg skin to a tree. Now they’ll know never to enter my lands,” Beorn replied proudly in his deep rumbling voice, a sort of savage smile behind his great beard. “I shall think more kindly of dwarves after this. Killing the Great Goblin! Har!”

Beorn then went to explain what he would promise to do for the dwarves and their quest after Gandalf fully explained their purpose. He would lend ponies for each of them and a horse for the wizard for their journey to the edge of Mirkwood and stuff packs full of nuts, dried fruit and pots of honey and his beloved honey-cakes. The rations would last quite a long while as it was all food that was not easily spoiled. 

“But your way through Mirkwood is dark, dangerous and difficult. Water and food is not easy to find in that grim place. Nuts may be the only food you could salvage, but even that is doubtful. There is one stream there that I know of, it is black and strong which crosses the path, I believe. You should neither drink nor bathe from it for I hear it carries an enchantment. And do not shoot anything that would cause you to leave the path, which you _must not_ do for any reason.”

It was long in coming for the final announcement of their departure and although he knew it was going to happen, Bofur couldn’t help but be a little disappointed it had to be so soon. Beorn’s home was a wonderful reprieve from the band things that had already happened thus far on their journey, and it was a place where he could finally be with Fíli after his weeks of ridiculous pining. Lots of good things happened here, amidst the flowing of mead and flowers and humming bees, and he was reluctant to leave it. Looking around at his companions at the table, it was written all too clearly on their faces also. Bifur even slouched with a terrible pout into his bowl of porridge and berries. 

“Oh, come now, you lot of hardy and stout dwarves!” Beorn chided cheerfully with a wave of his large meaty hand. “I wish you all speed, and my house is open to you, if ever you come back this way again.”

Breakfast was over soon and the table cleared by sheep and dogs, and the Company thanked their host with bows and ‘at your service’s before drifting apart to enjoy the last day at Beorn’s longhouse. Bofur followed Fíli and Kíli to the forge to help them finish tidying up. Since all three of them were too scared to go and fetch their host to show him the improvement, they shrugged and hoped Beorn wouldn’t think it an insult and chase after them tomorrow. With one last look, Fíli closed the door and slid the open padlock into the hook but didn’t lock it, looking at Bofur and his brother with hands on his hips. 

Kíli frowned, his eyes roaming the mossy wood of the shed. “This adventure is far more dangerous than I ever thought.”

Bofur and Fíli nodded before saying anything, thinking the same thoughts. “Beorn wasn’t very assuring,” Fíli said after a heavy pause, turning to look the shed also. 

“At least we know what awaits us. As terrible as it all sounds,” Bofur said, stuffing his hands in his newly cleaned trouser pockets and sighing. 

Kíli took his quiver of arrows and slung it over his shoulder before turning on his heel to head back to the longhouse. Fíli’s smile was dim when Bofur looked at him beneath the brim of his hat. “Come, I think I left a knife in the barn,” Fíli said in a voice laden with hidden gloom, folding his arm through Bofur’s. 

The barn door was flung open wider than it usually had been neither thought much of it. Fíli found his knife in one of the barrels while Bofur went to pick up something lying in the middle of the open floor. Looking at it, it was a knitted glove. Fíli came over to stare at it next to Bofur, flipping the knife in the air, and he was just as confused at finding one of Ori’s gloves in the barn. Before either of them could say anything, there was a low keening sigh stopping them. 

Fíli mouthed ‘what?’ with a grin forming on his face and it took all of Bofur’s efforts not to burst out laughing when the same sigh grew into a breathy moan. He pointed upwards to the loft, the ladder mysteriously unattached, and Fíli’s hands flew to his mouth to suppress a snort and Bofur grinned wickedly. He narrowed his eyes at Fíli, mischief glinting in his eyes, and looked pointedly at the ladder, and Fíli all but sniggered and wrung his hands together. 

They quietly padded to the ladder that stood a few feet away from the loft and just as they were lifting to move it, there was an unmistakable cry of “D-Dwalin!”

Fíli and Bofur alike just about burst out laughing, barely containing it behind their hands and red faces, and in doing so the ladder almost fell. Fíli scrambled to catch it, shaking his head with tears in his eyes and Bofur very nearly lost his marbles. He picked up the other end of the ladder and accompanying Ori’s sighs was a throaty moan and something along the lines of, “Say that again, lad.” Quickly, the two trouble-makers set the ladder on the other side of the barn in the pig pens and fled before they were caught. They stumbled outside a handful of paces away before tripping into the grass and howling with laughter. They were in hysterics when Bifur plodded over to see what the issue was, and when Bofur did his best to explain between intakes of breath, the badger dwarf threw his had back with his maniacal laugh. 

“Oh, gods! I can’t, I can’t!” Fíli exclaimed between fits, clutching his sides upon the ground. 

«So what the bearded archer tells is true! Glorious! Our tattooed warrior will be in for it when the mother hen and thieving fox find out!» Bifur signed brokenly, nearly doubled over. 

“Nori and Dori will skin him, I’m sure of it,” Bofur added while he wiped his watery eyes, moving to sit up. 

“Dwalin’s a suitable dwarf for Ori; I don’t think it should be too bad, right? I mean they’ve been pretty obvious with the way they look at each other, and always sitting close,” Fíli asked with what remained of his bright grin, taking grass out of his hair. 

Bofur guffawed, chuckling once more and shaking his head. “Ohh, lad, you don’t know the half of it. Nori’ll skin him because they had an ‘understanding’ quite a while ago, and Dori’ll do the same because he’s shagging his baby brother.”

Fíli fell back into the grass upon hearing the bit of news of Nori and Dwalin, only to start up laughing again, albeit shorter lasting. “Really! Well, Mahal’s bloody boots! While Dwalin was a guard, seriously? Isn’t that against protocol or something? Oh, those dirty bastards! Now Dwalin’s got it with Ori, dear Smith, help me.”

«The thieving fox was even worse in his pilfering in those days, too, when you were but a wee dwarfling» Bifur signed around a honey-cake in his hands and mouth, rattling some obscene phrases in khuzdûl Dori would have fainted to hear. Fíli laughed even harder. 

\--

After the Company ate their fill of the last supper they would have underneath Beorn’s roof, the dwarves sat in front of the hearth and sipped warmed mead. Fíli tended to his swords between Bofur’s knees on the floor while he whittled, Bilbo told stories of the Sackville-Bagginses and their atrocious deeds whilst Thorin, Beorn and Gandalf listened attentively, Bifur tinkered, Glòin gazed at his locket, Balin leafed through scrolls, Dori finished patching a tunic of Nori’s and Ori stole blushed glances at Dwalin while he cleaned his warhammers to perfection that Kíli noticed with an inquisitive eye. It was peaceful yet there was a heaviness in the air that everyone felt and refused to acknowledge. 

Beorn announced that he was leaving for the night to scout the rest of his lands so they could have a safer passage to the north entrance of Mirkwood on the morrow. Gandalf was the only one who truly listened and thanked him with a weary smile, Thorin and Bilbo engaged in another conversation entirely (in their own little world). 

Bofur stood up with a finished carving of a sheep and Fíli raised his head from his knives. “Be right back,” he said softly with a smile, placing a hand on his knee and walking around the stool to the side table next to his bed in the back of the longhouse. He gathered up all the carvings he had whittled during his stay and went to the backrooms where most of the shapeshifter children stayed. 

They were still wary of him but Bofur had a way with children and he could always make some of them smile with a well-said comment, smile or wink, sometimes even pulling an acorn out from behind their ears in a silly magic trick. They also loved his songs and he was sure they would weasel one out of him before the night was through. 

“Mister Beorn?” a girl named Freda spoke when he knocked, a head of scraggly blonde hair that turned into the coat of a dog when she changed. 

“Aye, ‘tis me, wee children,” he poked his head around the door and grinned. “May I come in?”

Freda and the other children in the room nodded and he entered, then they gave him curious stares at what he held in his arms. “I have some things to give you. They’re all for you to share, so no fighting over them,” he said like he had a great secret, catching their excited attention, and he knelt on the floor between some beds and the dozen or so carvings slid from his arms. He looked up to their gasps and their wide eyes and gaping mouths and he let out a hearty laugh when the six changelings in the room leaped for them. 

“Oh, Mister Bofur!”

“They’re great!”

“A horse!”

“Is that a warg?”

“Look at this one!”

“A _dragon!_ ”

Then he was at the bottom of a pile of children smelling of dust and flowers and grass, all scrambling for a bit of him to hug. He was surprised, to say the least, for not a changeling had ever moved to touch him. Once they pulled away and sat up to play or to spin around the room, Bofur understood their fascination for the crude and unrefined toys; they had never had such before. These were marvelous toys to them, more wooden chunks than anything in his reckoning, but they loved them. He couldn’t take the smile off his face, and decided he really did love what he did. He would make toys until he couldn’t any longer just to see faces light up like theirs. 

He was coerced into playing some game with Freda and another girl named Hilda and he happily obliged. He was the warrior who got rammed to the head by a goat and trampled by a horse and eaten, finishing with a mighty roar of pain and dying rather pathetically. He sang the Cat in the Moon for them before bedtime, clapping and doing a silly show of spinning and dancing that made the boys and girls giggle. They all thanked him one last time with wide toothy smiles and warm child hugs, asking for promises of his return he couldn’t help but keep. He waved them goodnight and shut the door behind him, feeling more fulfilled than he ever thought he could. 

He yawned himself and decided to head for bed, and seeing the lump in his cot he was surprised but pleased to see Fíli already tucked in. He flashed him a grin and Bofur chuckled, Fíli’s head and fingers the only parts visible above the covers, and he was reminded of the children he just put to bed. He went over to him and leaned down for a kiss. Kíli across the area groaned. 

“Please don’t get all gross tonight, I would like to actually _sleep_. Because, you know, we’re leaving for Mirkwood tomorrow,” Kíli said with exasperation from his cot, making the both of them snigger. 

“It’ll probably be a few days to get there,” Fíli said cheekily. Bofur shed his jerkin and unbuckled his belt. 

“ _Whatever_.”

“No worries, Kíli, we’ll keep it quiet,” Bofur said slyly with a wink and Kíli moaned. Bofur chuckled as he crawled into the cot next to Fíli, the youngest Durin pulling a feather-stuffed pillow over his face. 

Bofur collected Fíli’s head to his chest, settling into a comfortable position after much elbow poking and awkward knee positioning, but at last they lied contentedly and let the quiet swallow them for a while. Fíli kneaded his fingers into Bofur’s tunic over his side, listening to the calming beat of his heart with a small smile on his face. Bofur’s hand sat warmly on Fíli’s shoulder, rubbing his arm now and again, sometimes letting his fingers sneak under his sleeve to gently rub. 

Ori appeared from around the wicker screen, materializing in the darkness, and he almost jumped straight out of his skin when Bofur muttered, “Ori?”

“Ah, yes, it’s me,” the scribe almost squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake,” he said as he went to his cot and his pack that sat mostly ready on the floor, starting to shift through it quietly near to Kíli’s cot where he snored. 

“Planning on going somewhere?” Fíli asked with a smirk to his voice Ori didn’t fail to hear, glancing knowingly to Bofur it the dark, who winked in return. He held his chin up on his arms over Bofur’s sternum.

Ori paused in whatever he was doing in his pack for a moment, then got right back to digging. “Well,” he started, standing up and sliding something into his pocket and he brushed off his clean but stained and falling apart jumper. “You have to keep it secret,” he mumbled from across the small space, and then padded over to Fíli and Bofur almost soundlessly. The tone in his voice was solemn but cautious. 

Bofur’s lip curled into a smirk. “What, the you and Dwalin shagging bit?”

“Shh! Yes! That!” Ori hissed and he almost glowed red in the dark. “How do you know?”

Fíli chuckled quietly. “Ori, friend, if your shouting Dwalin’s name from the barn loft isn’t any indication, then we might be as deaf as Òin.” Bofur nodded in agreement. 

Ori pressed his fingers to his eyes, thanking the relative darkness of the room that his friends couldn’t see how utterly embarrassed he was. “Right. Well. I suppose. But _please, please_ don’t tell Dori or Nori. Especially Nori. Gods, please don’t tell either of them. Not even Kíli.”

Bofur’s smile fell a bit, disheartened that Ori would feel such a strong desire to keep something like this away from his brothers. He knew it was better for Dwalin’s sake at this point, but hopefully later his brothers would come to. He didn’t think Dori or Nori would be too opposed or so against the idea of their little brother being courted by the gruff guardsman, surely they would understand. Bofur would put in a good word, he decided. All that would do would help, because if he had to hide his relationship with Fíli, he would hope someone would help him. “Aye,” Bofur replied earnestly. “Promise.”

“No one will hear of it from us. On my word,” Fíli said stoutly, offering Ori a smile from his upright position on Bofur’s chest, even if he couldn’t see it. A dwarf’s word was as good as an oath over Mahal’s holy stone. 

Ori’s shoulders released their tightness in relief. “Thank you. Both of you, thanks. It’s just that we’re going to Mirkwood tomorrow, so… you know. Time for lasts and everything,” he let out an airy laugh. 

“Right,” Fíli said and nodded. “Go, before you lose your time.”

Ori didn’t have to be told twice. He slipped out of their bed space without a sound, disappearing around the corner as swiftly as a barn cat. 

Fíli turned his face to Bofur, smiling gently at him in the dark, and he leaned forward to press the side of his nose against his. “He’s right, y’know,” Fíli said in a low voice, his mustache brushing the miner’s and his braids tapped against his jaw. “It is the last time we’ll be as comfortable as we are now. And not out in the center of the biggest, most cursed forest in Middle-earth.”

Bofur hummed in consideration, arching a brow upward into his hair. “Is comfort the only thing on your mind?” he asked suggestively, his hand travelling south to lay on Fíli’s hip.

The blond snorted quietly. “My arse has been sore all day, so yes, it is,” Bofur stifled a laugh into his hair. “But I’m more interested in going at it one last time with you.”

“Oh?” Bofur hummed, rolling Fíli onto his back and kissing him soundly. “I’m not too fond of last times. Maybe the forest won’t be so bad,” he muttered after pulling away, hands shimmying Fíli’s pants downward. 

“ _Please_. You heard Beorn’s description of it. Gandalf and Radagast both say its cursed and Gandalf isn’t even coming with us.”

Bofur furrowed his brows in remembrance. “I forgot that part.”

“See? It’s going to be terrible, I could weep at the mere thought of it.”

Bofur cooed mockingly, brushing some hair out of Fíli’s forehead and kissing it like a mother would. “Don’t talk like that, you big dwarfling, or soon enough you’ll have me in tears.”

Fíli managed to get Bofur free of his trousers but his only needed to be down to his knees; Fíli worked his own off underneath the blankets with Bofur’s help. “I’m sorry, that’s the last thing I want, baby Bofur,” Fíli said against his whiskery cheek, kissing that and then down to his jaw where he let his lips glide over his growing beard and stubble. 

“Hush, you,” Bofur smiled, slicking himself up between their bodies. “You’ll be weeping by the end of tonight, and not because of Mirkwood,” he said with a certain heat and tone to it but Fíli couldn’t help laughing at him. 

“Shall I beg?” he teased, curling his strong and burly arms up and around Bofur’s shoulders, nudging his arse into Bofur’s stiffening prick and he toyed with his bone earring (that Fíli found rather attractive because it made the carefree miner look a little more rogueish).

Bofur all but growled, heaving into Fíli’s tightness with one swift motion. The prince’s mouth opened with surprised pleasure and he almost let out a groan but Bofur took his mouth hungrily and nipped at his lips. 

When their peaks were nearing faster on the horizon, their bodies hot and damp and breath ragged, Bofur asked huskily, “How does it feel?”

Fíli swallowed, his nails kneading almost painfully into Bofur’s back. “Incredible,” he huffed, dwindling it into a breathy sigh into the miner’s hair. 

“Tell it to me.”

His stomach lurched at the lust staining his words and it wasn’t from a well-timed thrust. He swallowed again to bring moisture back to his mouth, then said as steadily as he could, “I feel cleaved in two, but its so good, I feel… feel so full and warm. With you in me, Bofur, it’s… ohh—its better than I’ve felt. It’s almost too much, just so— _Bofur!_ Oh, gods, I can’t! Bof—,” Fíli almost started howling as his pleasure built up exponentially but before he could wake the whole house Bofur put his hand over his mouth, and grunted with a particularly deep heave that nearly had Fíli’s head knocked into the wall. He removed his hand after a few moments and Fíli let loose a strangled sigh, lolling his head to the side. “Can you come with me?” the prince asked, almost too sweet and innocent for what was happening, almost like he was asking to go on a stroll. 

Bofur heaved deeply again, shuddering at the sparks that flared up his body. “Yes, I can.”

Then they let themselves go, falling into each other’s arms at the height of their mutual completion, sinking further into warm, fleeting bliss.


	23. The Ghost on The Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost on The Shore - Lord Huron  
> \--  
> Mirkwood lives up to its name of being a terrible place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is where I start to follow The Hobbit book by J. R. R. Tolkein, with some aspects from the movie trailer added in. I know that the whole capture of the dwarves goes differently in the movies, but I don't want to follow Peter Jackson's reckoning and completely mess up the whole thing, so I'm staying safe and following Tolkein's storyline. 
> 
> Some parts taken from the chapter Flies and Spiders from The Hobbit book.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield ate a quick breakfast and spent the rest of the morning dashing through the longhouse in preparation for their departure. Beorn’s family of shapeshifters equipped their travel packs, rations and gathered the ponies to bridle and saddle them. Half past noon they ate for the last time with Beorn and his companions, eating their fill. Once they were finished they strapped on their remaining belongings and food to the saddles and mounted. With sad goodbyes the Company departed Beorn’s gated compound into the Wilds beyond to travel North (“Closer to the goblin scouts is the least they’ll expect—you’ll be much safer!” Their host promised enthusiastically. Fíli felt a little uncertain). 

They rode fast and silently at Gandalf’s behest, the wizard riding a horse at the head of the column. He was leading them to a path north of the Carrock that was seldom used by goblins; a better choice than the main forest road that was overrun with growth and foul creatures, and nobody complained. Soon they passed the looming spire of the Carrock to the West, the mountains a long horizon following them behind the carved stone structure. Dusk fell and they made camp, eating small portions of honeycakes and dried fruit to preserve for their venture into the depths of Mirkwood. Bofur spied his brother Bombur with a frown and holding his belly at the fire, looking terribly disappointed. After eating heartily nearly every day for their stay at Beorn’s, it was a change to eat so little; Bofur’s stomach felt quite a bit empty also. 

There had not been much talk throughout the day’s ride and supper was no different. Fíli sat down next to Bofur and together they agreed to keep separate sleeping rolls for the night, more to avoid bombardment with prying questions than embarrassment, even if both were silently reluctant. It was obvious in the way they looked at each other across the campfire that neither wanted it when they set out their bedrolls. Fíli laid down and rolled onto his side away from his brother to keep from meeting his questioning glance, and curled his blanket closer. They were not far from the fire, but the night would be a lot colder without another body of heat to sleep against. 

For the next two days the Company rode onwards, singing songs to pass the time and lighten the mood, telling stories to forget the next foreboding step in their journey and watching the scenery of Middle-earth pass by. Kíli pointed excitedly one late morning after an early start, spotting a herd of red deer grazing a few hundred yards to the West, and a few older dwarves told him he was lying and that he was seeing wild horses. Fíli vouched for his brother by counting twenty of them aloud, and the Company was reminded then that the two princes had some of the sharpest eyes in daylight. Bofur smiled proudly, even if he couldn’t see them. 

Bilbo identified some different flowers and plants as he came upon them, Ori jotting down some notes while he listened, and Òin added his own knowledge by telling them all their different uses. The old soothsayer and the hobbit chatted and debated about herbology information while Glòin and Balin recounted their memories of Mirkwood from the Eastern edge of the forest (then called Greenwood). Nori showed Fíli and Kíli some of his knife tricks, spinning the dagger between his fingers and flipping it behind his back over his shoulder, the princes watching with rapt attention. He pulled knives from hidden places so quickly it couldn’t be seen, eventually juggling three daggers at once. Bofur rode up behind him on his pony and pulled a hidden dagger out from the side peake of his hair, making half the Company roar with laughter while the thief flushed a furious red. Bofur dashed ahead and put the knife in the front panel of his hat with the knife point upwards in mocking jest, giving a wink to his longtime friend. 

They started again at dawn after the second day and the edge of the forest stood ominously ahead like a black wall moving to greet them. It loomed darkly against the bright sun and the golden grasses around them. Gandalf brought the Company of dwarves to an opening between two great gnarled trees, their branches twisting and bending to create an arch overhead like a frieze between gate pillars. Already everything seemed quieter; the birds didn’t chirp, the wind didn’t whistle, and even the grass refused to shudder. The ponies, such gentle creatures, refused to get within twenty paces of the forest edge. 

The dwarves dismounted and stretched their sore legs, yet Gandalf remained atop his horse. The Company knew they would be departing from the wizard yet seeing him unmoving sank their spirits into dust. It would be a different journey from here without the old, conniving and wise wizard by their sides, and they all knew it. 

“Here is Mirkwood, and I hope you like the look of it,” Gandalf said with dry humor, his bright and clear eyes crinkling on the edges. “Now you must send back your ponies that have been borrowed.”

A few were resistant to send them back but Gandalf reminded them that to betray their word would put them at enemies with Beorn, and he was an ill man to cross. So, they loosened their packs from the saddles and swung them onto their backs and said farewell to the ponies. They were all too hasty to trot away from the continuous dark forest. The dwarves were shocked to learn that Gandalf would be taking his mount further to attend to obscure business elsewhere. They filled their waterskins during a brief lunch in a nearby stream and finally said their farewells to Gandalf as well. 

“Don’t leave the path!” Gandalf shouted over his shoulder, far enough away to look like a grey smudge on the horizon. Bilbo sighed, watching his old friend leave him, maybe for the last time. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut as he turned to face the forest. Then Bofur was next to him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder and offering him a kind smile. 

“We’ll be out of this forest sooner than you know, Bilbo, my friend,” he said with quiet confidence, half-believing it himself. 

Glòin overheard while he was distributing items with the others to even out weight. “No, Mister Bofur, I don’t believe it will be as soon as you think. It’s the largest forest in Middle-earth, and we’ve to cross through it.”

“And it’s cursed, don’t you forget,” Dori added nearby, helping Ori to shoulder his pack.

Bofur shrugged but Bilbo sank further into the grass forlornly. “I think we’ll be alright as long as we keep our chins up,” Bofur said, taking some jars of honey from Bifur to add to his own pack. A few members groaned at his unwanted optimism, but Bofur only gave Bilbo a reassuring wink and the hobbit couldn’t help a small smile.

They walked in single file into the dark tunneled fortress of grey and black branches that engulfed Mirkwood. Ivy and lichen hung from gnarled branches like ropes, adorned with blackened leaves that hardly covered an inch. The forest swallowed them and as they got further the light was already dimming, and soon the entrance behind them was a far off beacon that slowly guttered out. Dwarf sight was better in the dark, but the darkness inside the forest was no darkness than any had ever seen from any mountain. It was thick and inky, unnatural and grim, and the twisted roots on the floor didn’t add any ease. Even Fíli and Kíli were having a time of it navigating safe walking passages, but soon all their eyes adjusted; even so, nothing was spared from the blackness the forest boasted. There were even black squirrels that darted between the wiry boughs above, quick and small, but other than the quiet scratch of their claws on the dead bark of the trees there was no other sound but footfalls and breathing. 

Distorted roots and fallen tree limbs encumbered the path between jagged and sharp rocks. Sometimes the path was hard to see with all the growth that grew over it, but Thorin, with his nephew’s help, found the path again soon enough. The farther they walked the less the roots were a problem, but some were hidden beneath blankets of dead and rotten leaves and other things, so it wasn’t always easy treading. 

They made a fire the first few nights with dead offshoots of trees and dried hanging moss, but soon regretted it when huge moths the size of fists fluttered about their heads and faces. The eyes that watched from the canopy were no small comforts, either, and all the members could feel shivers run down their spines as they were watched. Three nights into the forest Bofur brought Fíli where his and his family’s bedrolls laid and said no words about lying down with him. Fíli didn’t argue and in fact found the idea agreeable, hastily rolling out his pallet next to Bofur’s. Once the fire gutted out the both of them were glad to have each other as the countless eyes gazed upon them, all disembodied and seeming to float among the trees. Kíli scrambled to huddle against Fíli’s back that night, a habit he formed as a child when he had nightmares, and did so every night since. 

Soon every dwarf hated the wood. It was dank and stuffy as no air breezed through, clouded with the damp, musty smell of soil and rot. It was cold and stiff at night without fire, and all throughout the day their bellies were tight with hunger. Thorin was insistent on keeping their food constantly rationed as he and everyone else didn’t know how long their path would take. Fíli was still grey-faced after eating his ration and his few gulps of water, clutching his stomach, so Bofur quietly gave him the last few bites of his honeycake. He initially refused but Bofur insisted, saying he needed it more than him, so Fíli reluctantly took it and discreetly kissed him on the cheek. 

The roots that burdened their path were troublesome when one wasn’t actively looking for them, and a few of the dwarves had already tripped over them when their weariness was at the forefront of their minds. Fíli could have sworn his knees were purple from landing on them so many times, and everyone else probably felt the same. An uncountable number of days (or was it was weeks?) after arriving in Mirkwood, Ori’s foot got tangled in a root and he landed wrong on his wrist. He yelped in pain and surprise and both his brothers rushed to his side, Dwalin not far behind. Òin inspected his wrist and found that he severely sprained it, much to Ori’s annoyance as it was his writing hand. When Thorin called for them to find branches to make a brace, everyone was surprised when the scribe let out a string of foul curses that no one thought possible coming from him. Dori was so dumbfounded he couldn’t find the right words to properly scold him, so he settled for a brotherly “Shut up, Ori.” Nori grinned. 

Kíli managed to shoot down a squirrel after loosing a fourth of his arrows after it, and upon roasting the rodent, just the smell prompted the dwarves to groan. It was rancid. No one wanted to take a bite out of it but figuring it was worth a try, Òin volunteered after Glòin’s behest (“You’ll eat anything, brother. Remember that time you picked up some leaves on the side of the road just to see what your reaction would be? Eat the damned squirrel”). He took one bite, chewed, and his face morphed into such disgust the Company burst out laughing. The old dwarf spat it out over the forest floor and pawed at his tongue with his gloves to get the taste out of his mouth, the dwarves roaring with laughter around him at his expense. Thorin bellowed at them to give him some water after he had enough of rowdiness, their leader's mood darkening everyday they went further into the forest, though everyone fared much the same. 

It was a few days later that they came upon a stream across their path. Their water and food supplies were running low so if Beorn had not warned them to never touch or drink from it, the dwarves would have leaped at the chance to refill their waterskins and splash their faces. There were remnants of a bridge on their side of the stream, and Bilbo stood on the bank where the bridge would have been and pointed across the stream. The rest of the bridge was on the other side. 

Thorin stood behind him, squinting over his shoulder. Fíli thought for a minute his uncle was standing particularly close to their burglar, closer than he would have with him and his brother, even. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind at all, and in fact hardly noticed the closeness. “Can you see anything else?” Thorin asked, his voice low and deep in his throat with thirst. Climbing the bank, Fíli watched as Thorin’s eyes flicked to Bilbo’s pointed ear, poking out from his mop of dirty golden brown hair, and wandered across his profile. Fíli could have laughed at the endearing and enraptured look that passed through his uncle’s gaze but instead he let himself be content, and also nudged Kíli to tell him to watch. 

Kíli’s mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened and turned bright, almost blurring out the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Has something taken Uncle and traded him with someone else?” he asked with amusement. 

Fíli chortled. His heart softened a little and he forgot his sour mood despite the gloom of the forest. He knew that look. He took a sweeping glance at his brown-haired miner, pulling leaves out of Bifur’s hair after he rolled down the hill in play, mothering him almost as well as Dori. Fíli smiled softly. Yes, he knew that look. “Maybe. He might take that stick out of his arse and tell Bilbo how he really feels,” he muttered through the corner of his mouth to his brother, making them both snort. 

“Replace it with something else, swallow his pride a little, maybe be happy for once,” Kíli crossed his arms and a thoughtful look passed over his face. “If he doesn’t do anything by the time we get to Erebor—which is very likely—we’ll have to do something, brother.”

“Aye. Maybe even before then. Bilbo would make him happy, I think,” Fíli toed his boot into the dirt, thoughts starting to swim. Where would they be before Erebor? He recalled a map in his head mentally, trying to remember the names of towns. Dale, of course, but that city was a ruin, surely they wouldn’t travel there. Esgaroth, perhaps?

While he was busy thinking he didn’t hear Thorin call for him until Kíli nudged him. He followed Thorin to the edge of the stream while Bilbo told him there was a boat on the other side. Bilbo said it was possibly twelve yards away, but Fíli stared at it awhile to figure out just how far it was. He was handed a rope from Dwalin with a hook attached to one end from his pack and he swung the hook to get a feel for the weight. He stepped back and threw it in a fine arch across the stream. 

“Not far enough,” Bilbo said when he heard the hook splash in the stream. “A couple more feet and you would have snared it,” he peered forward while Thorin and Fíli pulled the hook back. 

The next time he threw it too far and a few dwarves hid their chuckles behind him, but Kíli outright guffawed. Not even Bofur could suppress a laugh, so Fíli gave them both hard scowls over his shoulder while pulling the hook back for a second time. At the next toss the hook landed in the boat and Bilbo grinned widely, slapping Fíli on the back. “Now pull the rope slowly so it’ll catch,” he said and Fíli did so. When the boat resisted from being at all budged Fíli pulled hard and Kíli jumped to help, then Òin and Glòin joined in yanking on the rope. The boat loosed itself from the bank and its ties suddenly, making the four of them fall backwards. It was a scramble to catch the boat in time before it drifted down stream, but Balin steadied it in time. 

Thorin, Bilbo, Fíli and Balin were the first to cross after Fíli secured another rope to pull them across the water by slinging the hook around an overhanging branch. Then it was Kíli, Òin, Glòin and Dori, then Ori, Nori, Bifur and Bofur, and lastly Dwalin and Bombur. Bombur grumbled about being last, again, as he always was, but said nothing else while the others crossed. 

Dwalin got out of the boat on the other side and Bombur made to follow, but almost as soon as he stepped out there was a great obsidian stag that leaped out of the brush. It bounded across the gap and Kíli loosed an arrow as quick as thought just as it was about to land. The stag crumpled to the bank of the stream, but Bombur had stumbled in the excitement and the boat drifted downstream. Bofur cried out first that his brother had fallen in, stumbling to his bruised knees to reach for his bright orange hair. Bilbo fell next to him and along with Bifur’s strength the three of them pulled on Bombur’s braided coiled beard and heaved him to shore. 

His eyes never opened, and in fact, he looked to be peacefully sleeping. Bofur slapped his ruddy cheeks and shouted at him to wake up but not a sound passed his lips but his lazy smile. Bifur cried at him in khuzdûl but that was no use either, and eventually Fíli knelt between them and put comforting hands on their shoulders. Bofur leaned heavily against Fíli’s side and covered his face with his dirty and wet hands. 

At the loss of the boat they were unable to go back across to fetch the stag, bemoaning Bombur’s clumsiness and they all thought of what to do next. Ultimately it was up to Thorin to give up on the stag (a welcoming prospect of full bellies, but alas) and he organized the dwarves to build a raft of fallen branches and extra rope to carry Bombur on. Suddenly there was a far off horn bellow before any of them could start gathering wood, and they all fell still and listened with pricked ears, having not heard such noise in what felt like to be long weeks. 

“It sounds like a hunt,” Kíli said below his breath, watching the woods in the distance where the horse hooves and trampling seemed to come from with his keen eyes. Then as soon as it came the noise faded and they were left in silence once more. 

The Company constructed the raft in little over an hour to roll Bombur onto, who seemed hardly bothered in his deep slumber, and thus their packs were redistributed so the ones who had to carry the fat dwarf were not further burdened. Dwalin, Bofur, Glòin and Òin hauled the raft first and at long last their journey continued through the forest.   
A while later, Kíli suddenly bounded ahead like a fire was on his heels and he disappeared off the path despite Thorin’s shouts and Gandalf and Beorn’s warnings. Without thought Fíli followed him, and the others on the path heard the twang of a bow and frantic shouts. 

“Get back here! Fíli! Kíli!” Thorin shouted, daring to take a few paces into the scrub to find his nephews but they appeared almost instantly. 

“Sorry, Uncle, but I saw another stag through the trees,” Kíli explained, huffing. “It was white, pure white. I chased it but I couldn’t land a single arrow. I don’t have any more left.”

“It was the fastest stag I’ve seen,” Fíli said between intakes of breath. 

Thorin shook his head. “No. You left the path. Do not do so again, not even if you see a herd of them. Do you understand?” he scolded, and for a moment, both princes saw unmistakable fear burn in his eyes, but the moment passed he looked stern once more. They both nodded without another word. 

They carried on. The path winded and rose and fell endlessly, but now that Bombur had to be carried, the going was slow. The nights were dark and disquieting, the eyes around them ever watchful, and neither Fíli nor Bofur found much sleep despite each others arms. Four or so days after the stream their food and water supplies were all but empty, however, they found themselves in a part of the forest where the trees were mostly beeches, nuts littering the floor. It was not so dark and stuffy, and even a little sunlight reached the leaf-covered floor of the wood far beneath the reddish canopy. But, as lovely as sunlight was after days and weeks of no such sight, it would not bring them nourishment. Here the air moved about and Bofur could finally take off his hat and wipe his sweaty forehead. Fíli just got off from his shift of hauling Bombur, so he went over and wrapped a tentative arm around the prince’s waist, pressing his nose in front of his hear to give his dirty and salty cheek a kiss. Fíli smiled wearily and rolled his eyes when Nori and Òin gave them mock suggestive faces and puckered lips. 

The path led them to a valley of oaks and, fearing that the forest would never end, the Company voted that Bilbo be the one to climb to the topmost branches to see if there was indeed an end. Dwalin and Thorin lifted him to a branch and Bilbo cautiously climbed even though he grumbled the whole way. While they waited, Bofur laid his head on Fíli’s outstretched legs and napped, the blond leaning against Ori’s back, dozing himself. 

Thorin, Kíli, Balin and Dori shouted up at Bilbo but the hobbit was all but oblivious to their voices. He was caught in the midst of a flock of butterflies, all blue and huge and beautiful, and he watched them shudder from the red autumn leaves like birds taking flight. He gaped at them in awe, grinning all the while at the unexpected beauty at the top leaves of Mirkwood. But the butterflies flew away in a cloud, leaving Bilbo among the leaves alone, and he could see no end. The forest stretched on and on and on without a single break in sight, not even another river, like one great ocean of red-leafed trees. Dismayed yet still lighthearted, he climbed down and gave the Company his news. 

A few days later, or what it felt like, after rain fell from the canopy to where the Company still slept, Bombur woke with a start. He told them of his dreams of a great feast with a king crowned in leaves, leading a merry party full of song and dance and food. There was so much food, he said, he gaped at it and make the others mouths water at his description. Almost as soon as he was finished regaling them with his dreams, Balin called out that he saw a light, waving others to follow him. Bofur and Bifur smothered Bombur in hugs and affectionate scolds, telling him what a nuisance he had been, but soon Fíli and Kíli dragged the family along to follow the rest. 

It was a feast. A great feast, the lamps hanging from boughs with music and joyous song and dance, and elves spun and swirled as if without care. And there were tables and tables of food, heaped with hams, pies, fruits, breads, meats and drink. It took very little convincing to get Bilbo, their burglar, to burgle food for them, and hardly any said a word when he outright disappeared behind a bush and never reemerged. They sat and waited while their stomachs growled some music of their own, having only eaten the scarce nuts they had picked up from the forest floor the last few days. Their mouths watered and they grew impatient as almost an hour passed. Dwalin was about ready to plunge into the merriment of the elves when Bilbo reappeared from around a tree trunk, his arms laden with food. It didn’t seem to matter to the dwarves they were eating elvish food as they devoured what Bilbo had gathered like ravaged and starved beasts. 

All of it was gone within minutes and starving for more, they hopped out of the bushes and suddenly all the lights went out, and Bilbo slipped on his ring just in time for the light to gutter out completely. Looking around through the haze the ring brought upon him, he found himself suddenly alone in the forest, not a dwarf or elf in sight.


	24. Bloodflood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodflood - Alt-J  
> \--  
> Fili awakes to spiders, and finds himself thrown in an elven dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I'm following the storyline of The Hobbit by Tolkein, not the Desolation of Smaug snippets we've seen from the trailers and spoiler hints. 
> 
> This is probably the shortest chapter I will ever post! It was actually split up in two but I added these parts together so it can be more cohesive and not so broken-up. Elves kinda suck at this point, but hey, the dwarves can be jerks, too. ;) Thanks for reading and dropping kudos and comments! I love it! :D

“Fíli, oh, Fíli, thank goodness it’s you. Come, wake up, my lad, wake up! Fíli!”

Everything spun, even the voice was warped. He heard his name, then again and again and there was stinging on his cheeks, and finally he was able to open his eyes. Bilbo! Great Durin, it was Bilbo! And what was all that stuff covering him? Why couldn’t he move? Dear Mahal, he felt so sick and so dizzy he wanted to go back to sleep.

Evidently he closed his eyes to do just that but Bilbo was slapping his face and cutting him out of whatever it was that bound him. “Fíli, you need to wake up. Fíli!” Bilbo sounded so frantic, so worried, his voice shook and Fíli, although groggily, came to his senses.

There was white netting everywhere, from between the branches and clogging the few leaves and the hanging moss. There were bridges and nets and multiple rolls and bundles hanging from the branches. Bilbo was covered in it. No… it wasn’t netting, it was webs, thick, sticky webs. Fíli looked around and saw a dark multi-legged shape move between the bridges of webbing above him. 

Bilbo grabbed Fíli’s arm whispered to him, “You need to get the others free. I will distract the spiders.” Then he was gone, his letter opener gleaming as he jumped away.  
Fíli didn’t have much time to process the moment. He crawled along the branch to the next lump where he suspected one of his friends were. He cut it open carefully with one of his boot knives and pulled apart the sticky webs to reveal Dori’s face. He freed him and got him steady and gave him one of his vambrace knives to cut the others out, and then he moved to the next bundle of webs. 

He heard shouting around him, lilting almost like a song, and the spiders hissed and chased after it frantically, and Fíli thanked all his jewels and gems that they paid the drowsy lot of them no heed. They were too clumsy and wobbly to successfully fight them off at the moment. He started to panic a little, having not found neither Kíli nor Bofur yet. He scrambled anxiously across the webbed boughs to where he saw the next bundle, hidden between thick branches. He was met with a face full of webs he hadn’t seen and he clawed at them and sputtered, his stomach roiling as he took in a huge breath of the strange-smelling sticky threads. He cut open the bundle and found Kíli and he nearly cried with relief. He quickly roused him and hearing drowsy protests over his shoulder, he turned and saw Nori helping Bofur out of his netting. 

“Durin’s beard, thank you, oh—Kíli! Careful!” Kíli had almost tipped right out of the webs and would have fallen the twenty or so feet it was to the forest floor if Fíli had not caught his belt and quiver strap. 

Once all the dwarves were free they regrouped on the floor, picking and pulling at the webs that littered their bodies, some clutching their uneasy stomachs and all grieving the absence of a certain wizard. Bilbo appeared out of thin air and they gasped at the suddenness of his arrival. “No time to explain! We must get going, and quickly, or they’ll snare you again! Go, hurry!”

The dwarves were sick and nauseous from the spider poison but they stood and stumbled away as best they could. Holding Kíli’s arm around his shoulder, Fíli hauled him along with steadier feet than most since he was the first woken, but Kíli had been one of the last. Bofur was also being dragged along by Dwalin so he wouldn’t trip over his feet. Then suddenly, as soon as they were making way, dozens of spiders were upon them and the dwarves leapt to action, every one, though only a few were stable on their feet. The spiders were huge and hideous, pitch as midnight, hairy and frothy at their pronged mouths. Fíli almost found himself bitten by their stringers more than once, but plunged his sword into their bellies or eyes before he could succumb to their poison again. 

He fought wildly, seeing around him that the others were coming back to themselves as the poison passed. More than once he was trapped by spiders and had to wrestle his way free, and once he was saved by Bifur’s hauberk, spitting the spider like a hog as it screamed and died. More seemed to pour from the webbed tresses above them just as quickly as they killed them, and Bilbo joined in the frenzy with his letter opener and fought beside them with surprising skill. Fíli watched the hobbit thrust his dagger into the back of a spider and then spin around without fear to swipe at another’s face, sending it scrambling away. 

Fíli saw a gleam of gold in Bilbo’s hand and then he vanished, followed by taunting shouts of “Lob” and “Attercop”, and the angry spiders followed after him. Soon the dwarves were left alone, stumbling and panting and so bone-weary, Fíli fell to his hands and knees while every muscle in his body burned aflame. He heaved on his empty, empty stomach and others did the same, their heads spinning and their backs dripping with sweat, falling to the ground where they stood. 

They were also quite easy to capture. 

\--

Fíli was thrown into his cell rather ungraciously. He skidded on his shoulder and cheek on the cold stone floor, scrubbing harshly as he went. The elves slammed his cell door shut with a clatter and locked it. Immediately Fíli ran to the bars and gripped them in white and dirty knuckles. “KÌLI!” he screamed hoarsely, the elf guards who threw him in leaving down the hall. “KÌLI!” he screamed once more, and again and again until one of the guards spun around on his heel and came up to his door, holding a dagger at his throat to get him off the door. 

Fíli backed away and stood in the center of his cell and spat at the foot of the bars in insult. The elf scowled at him and said something in his language Fíli really didn’t know, then stalked away with his long girlish hair flowing behind him. Fíli jumped to the bars again. “KÌLI! BOFUR! _KÌLI!_ ” He dared not call for Thorin, not since he went missing, though he very much wanted to. 

This time the elf wheeled around angrily and raised a boot to smash his fingers against the bars. He cursed foully in khuzdûl and hissed at the elf guard. He didn’t reach for the bars again. He knew shouting would tick off the elves so he planned do it later, even though he was alone. He was taken separately from his companions and he didn’t even know where they had gone for they had blindfolded him. He knew they were all separated to different parts of this… _dungeon_ beneath the ground, a place fit for moles and worms. Thranduil looked upon them like vermin, and Fíli thought just the same for him and his lowly woodland people. 

Fíli turned to his dark cell and rubbed his sore fingers. What about _Bilbo?_ What happened to him? He was there one minute and gone the next, then the elves were pointing arrows in their faces. They threatened to kill them. _Elves_. They captured wandering, starving dwarves and tossed them into damp and cold cells when they wouldn’t give the answers their king wanted. Bifur told them everything, all in khuzdûl, told them the whole story, but of course they didn’t understand. Fíli laughed darkly. Elves.

An elven guard came by at some point and slid in a plate of food in the narrow slot at the bottom edge of his cell door. Thankfully there was meat, with potatoes and warm buttered bread. There was even a tankard of watery ale left outside the bars so he could reach through them and grab it. There weren’t any utensils so he ate with his hands. Mahal’s mercy, they strip him of his coat and jerkin to leave him shivering, throw him into a dusty cell and make him eat with his hands like an animal? What kind of elves were these? Fíli was disgusted, but he ate anyway. 

He threw the plate and the tankard full of piss-poor ale against the opposite wall from his cell, making a huge clatter that echoed down the corridor. He took the bars in his strong hands and shook them so the door rattled on its hinges, bellowing and roaring like the beast they thought of him. No elves came. 

Fíli fell into his lumpy pallet and pulled the blanket around himself, curling inwards. He yearned for Bofur’s warmth, his strong body behind him, holding him, like he had gotten used to. He just wanted to see his face more than anything, see if he was alright, wanted him here.  


Fíli sobbed, and still no elves came.


	25. Nantes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nantes - Beirut  
> \--  
> Bofur can be really annoying and Bifur is dangerous.

If Bofur listened closely enough, he could hear screams through the halls. He felt it in the stone. But even with his exceptional stone-sense, with his tuned ears, he couldn’t make out who it was. It was ceaseless so he considered torture. But elves, torturing? It didn’t seem likely. The guards muttered as they passed, heading away from the direction the screams were coming from. Bofur didn’t know who it could be; it could be anyone. Thorin seemed likely, if they found him. In the days that passed (he thought, figuring out when they gave him meals for breakfast and dinner, supposedly), Bofur sang to himself to turn out the relentless screaming. He composed his own songs, came up with an epic or two, a ballad, a dancing tune, and he played imaginary fiddles and lutes and pipes. 

At night he dreamed of Fíli, of his golden hair, of his dimples, of his warmth and his strength. His heart ached like a dull pain in his chest. He didn’t know where he was, where he had been brought, if those screams were _his_. He didn’t _know_ , and he eventually grew tired of crying about it. 

If there was anything Bofur was good at, it was pestering people. He knew when he was being annoying yet he pretended that he didn’t, which made it even _more_ annoying, but more fun for him. Every time an elf guard brought him his meal he asked them questions. Anything was fair game, anything between the earth and sun Bofur utilized. 

He asked about why they didn’t have beards, if all their hair was on their heads or between their legs, maybe it was in their ears? Do elf men really have knobs or was it flat with nothing? Can you put your leg over your head? Can you dance? Can you sing? Where’s the blond dwarf? Do you want to see my arse? Will you help me clean out my nose hairs? May I have a comb? How about a keg of wine, if you please? Do you want to see me stand on my hands? How about that screaming? Who’s it from? Can I stretch my legs out in the corridor? Do you have children? Marry your sister? Do you want to hear a story? How about a song? Can you shag upside down? How do you prefer? Women? Men? Where’s the blond dwarf, or the one with the axe in his head? The fat one?

At first the guards didn’t say anything or pay him any mind, only dropped his food off and left as he shouted after them. Once his questions and quips got more outrageous they told him to keep his mouth shut, and as they increased they stood by to listen, then to stand and laugh. But they didn’t tell him anything he actually wanted to know. Yes, elves have “knobs”; no, I don’t want to see your arse or your chest hair (he showed them anyway); yes, we can sing; no, I am not married; yes, I have children; no, we do not ‘shag’ upside down (you heathen); yes, sing a song; no, you told that story before; no, you may not leave. 

Bofur ate his supper and the elves left him to it. When he pulled his tankard through the bars, there was wine, not any of that piss they called ale that they had been giving him. He smiled. 

\-------

Fíli woke to the sound of his cell being wrenched open with a squeal. As soon as he opened his eyes he saw the elf guards throw Bifur inside with a pallet and blanket then slammed the door closed. Bifur raged at the door, shaking and cursing and rattling the bars, tossing his head and hair. 

Fíli was too surprised and confused to get up from his pallet at first, but once Bifur started throwing himself forcefully against the bars, Fíli jumped up and wrapped his arms around his waist. Bifur fought him as he pulled him away, slamming his meaty fists against his arms and resisting by holding onto the bars, kicking and screaming like a deranged child throwing a tantrum. 

“Bifur! Bifur, stop this! You’ll hurt yourself, Bif—,” Fíli shouted into his spiny, starved back, pulling with all his might at the badger dwarf who resisted with surprising strength. Bifur finally let go of the bars and they both stumbled back onto the hard stone, cushioned only by a part of the pallet that had been thrown in with Bifur.

Bifur rolled on top of him and Fíli reached to deflect his swinging arms, the badger dwarf shouting battle cries and thrashing wildly. He landed a sharp elbow to Fíli’s nose and he released him, Bifur using the same elbow to thrust into his gut and punch all the air out of him, leaving him stunned. Bifur wrestled to sit on top of him, his hands flying to his throat. Fíli saw in that moment, in Bifur’s angry face, that he didn’t recognize him, saw him only as an enemy, a captor, an _elf_. It didn’t matter, he meant to kill him, the intent and rage and determination in his face told Fíli that much, if his tightening hands on his throat didn’t. 

His vision starting to blacken, Fíli frantically scratched and pulled at Bifur’s wrists, and tried thinking of something to get him back to himself other than the desire to breathe. He managed to raise a hand and sign in Iglishmêk the gestures for «lion prince». There was a deafening pause where Fíli wheezed as the all the air was strangled from him, then the pressure lifted after a long moment of realization. Fíli gasped desperately for air and Bifur crawled off him and he could breathe, bless the gods, he could _breathe_. Thought came back to his head and the blood returned so he could see straight and breathe properly, but it was minutes before he could sit up. He wiped at his bloody and sore nose.

He saw Bifur in the corner sitting with his arms around himself, sobbing wretchedly enough his shoulders shook beneath his dirty brown tunic. He wailed like a child, shaking his head and speaking unintelligibly through his thick tears. Fíli pulled himself up onto his elbow, feeling his neck smart at the movement and his nose leak. Bifur meant to kill him. He saw it in his face, the savage rage flaring like a berserker would. He lost all sense of self, strangling Fíli, his friend, his cousin’s lover, and he meant to take his life. 

Yet Fíli wasn’t afraid. He pulled himself onto his knees and crawled over to him, and laid a hand on his trembling arm. Bifur shrugged him off and shouted something and went back to bawling against the wall. Fíli wasn’t put off, however, and wrapped his arm around Bifur’s shoulders, a little awkwardly, as the dwarf had tucked himself into the corner quite well. He tried comforting him nonetheless. Bifur continued to cry for the next few hours until Fíli almost fell asleep against the wall. At his loud sniffling, the prince opened his eyes and blinked to see in the relative darkness of their cell, lit only by a sconce on the wall across the cell door. Bifur was looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, looking like he would enjoy nothing more than to crawl into a hole. 

«I am sorry» Bifur signed, a few tears leaking out to drip into his scraggly beard. 

Fíli shook his head and patted his shoulder. Bifur moved to curl into Fíli’s open arms and sob quietly for a little longer, the prince holding him soothingly. He worked out in his head that it was Bifur who was screaming all hours of waking since Fíli could no longer hear or feel the vibrations throughout the corridor. The elves must have thrown him in with Fíli in hopes he could keep him quiet, which probably meant he was the one closest to Bifur in the dungeons. He only wished he was awake when Bifur was thrown in with him because then he could have known just how far away his cell previously was, and therefore gauge where the others might be. At least he wasn’t alone anymore, and for that he was grateful, even if he was almost killed. 

Fíli managed to lay out Bifur’s pallet against the wall next to his own and tuck him into it, sitting close by while the badger dwarf snored in his sleep. He slept for six food rotations, three days if Fíli wasn’t mistaken. He hardly moved, either, getting up only once to make his water in the bucket in the opposite corner, then went right back to sleep. Fíli kept busy by pretending he had his dual swords and he stepped out various forms in the small cell. He imagined he cut off the heads of orcs and elves alike. He thought about what Erebor would be like, wondered if it was really as grand and magnificent as the stories his Uncle and father told him. Or had Smaug scorched and destroyed it all to ruins? He worked through more forms as he thought. 

Then suddenly there was a voice. “Fíli? Can you hear me?” 

There was no one there. Just him and Bifur and the quiet scuff of his boots on the stone.

He jumped, his ears pricking to pick up any and all sounds as he looked around to find the source. “Who is it? Is this a trick? Some elf magic?”

There was a quiet huffing laughter near the door and Fíli leapt towards it, gripping the bars and searching the halls. Then Bilbo materialized like a veil had been torn down, pulling something off his finger, smiling tiredly. Fíli gasped aloud at his trick. “Bilbo! What… what? How? You just…,”

“Yes, I know. I suppose you could call it magic, but I don’t think it’s elvish,” he replied thoughtfully, gazing at the golden ring with a faint smile. “It’s this. I found it in the goblin caves when I met Gollum.”

Fíli heard that story, but he never mentioned a gold ring that could turn him invisible! “That’s… that’s incredible, Bilbo! Where have you been? You weren’t there when they captured us!” he exclaimed at first until Bilbo hushed him then spoke in a quieter voice, still full of incredulity and amazement. 

“I was wearing this when the elves came, they didn’t see me. I followed you lot into the palace, but I’m having trouble finding all of you,” Bilbo sighed dejectedly, looking at Fíli with wide apologetic eyes. “I’ve only found Dori and Òin so far. I’m glad at least I’ve found you, too, though.”

“Bifur’s here, also,” Fíli said, looking over his shoulder where he still slept. “They put him in here with me.”

Bilbo furrowed his brows and leaned sideways to peer around Fíli through the bars. His face softened when he saw his sleeping form, still and peaceful. “That’s good. He was the one screaming, shaking the cell bars. I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen, not even when I took off my ring. I overheard the elves debating about putting him in deeper cells when he managed to give one a bloody nose when they brought him food. But I’m glad they did not. Being here with you will put him at ease, I think.”

Fíli nodded solemnly, adjusting his position on his knees, fingering the bars as he thought out his words. “What is it you mean to say, Fíli?” Bilbo asked with a weary laugh. “You always have this look of concentration when you’re not sure if you should ask it.”

The edges of Fíli’s lips curled in a smile. Bilbo may be more observant than he let on, sometimes. “I… you haven’t found my uncle yet?” he meant to inquire about their frequent gaze exchanges he noticed at Beorn’s and through Mirkwood, but thought now wasn’t the time to ask. Bilbo’s shoulders slumped a little and he shook his head. 

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been searching the dungeons all this week and only found the four of you. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll search better,” he looked to his sore and calloused hands, avoiding Fíli’s eyes. 

“No… no, Bilbo, it’s alright. I know you’re trying. Just… tell Thorin I’m okay, and Kíli too, when you find him,” he reached out through the bars to put a hand on his small shoulder. “And tell Bofur… tell him I’m fine, if you will. And that Bifur is with me.”

Bilbo looked up at him through his fringes and smiled like he knew there was something more. He only nodded and put a hand on Fíli’s arm. “Of course. Of course I will, Fíli, absolutely. You watch over him, okay? Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. And eat all your food, you hear? I’ll try and snatch some extra bread here and there, but you’re a growing dwarf, you should eat all you get.”

Fíli snorted fondly, nodding. Bilbo _would_ say such things, even if he was locked in a dungeon. Bilbo stood and slipped on his magic ring and Fíli could hear his soft plodding down the hall as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Firstly, thank you so much for reading! Its my 25th installment and I'm so excited I've gotten this far! And this will probably be the first fic I'll actually finish, hahaha. But I owe it all to you lovely and beautiful people who drop your fabulous comments and kudos because they keep me going! Big hugs to everyone!
> 
> So about this chapter and future chapters. Since Bifur has suffered some serious brain trauma, when he gets super ticked off or in danger (being locked in a dungeon by his enemies qualifies as such) he goes completely nutso. Like, bonkers. Everyone is an enemy, sometimes even Bofur or Bombur, or Fili in this case, who is as good as family to him by now. He can be brought out of it but, obviously, its not so easy. But he hates it. So. And because the Desolation of Smaug is next week (AW YES CAN I GET A HIGHFIVE I'M SO EXCITED), I'm really glad I haven't written as far as Lake Town yet because I hear some things go a little differently than the book, so I'll have to change some of the storyline around in my head but that won't matter much to you guys. BUT I'M SO PUMPED.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Drop those comments and kudos like hot potatoes!


	26. The Lament of Eustace Scrubb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lament of Eustace Scrubb - The Oh Hello's  
> \--  
> Bofur ponders about the gifts he has been granted, and helps Bilbo finds his friends while he's at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome back! 
> 
> So, since the Desolation of Smaug is out, we'll meet up with the barrel scenes and from then onwards. Now, however, we're still stuck in Thranduil's dungeons, so it'll be a bit. And this is also a chapter in particular where I take quite a bit of artistic license on the dwarves and Aule, but I think its interesting, and I hope you do too :) Also, we take a look into Bofur's daddy. its great. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate anything you guys have to say, and all your kudos!

Bofur was not a religious dwarf. 

There were dwarrows he knew of who would sit and pray and give offerings to shrines dedicated to their Maker; men he knew who listened to the stone piously. They said that the dwarrows who mined were the closest to their Father as it was what they created them to be. They were creatures of creation, of discovery, and those who worked with their hands with the riches and metals that flowed from the earth were blessed in the eyes of the Great Smith. Despite their natural call to the halls of stone, there were dwarrows who worked with leathers, fabric and plants, and they were said to be farther from the graces of the one Valar they recognized as holier than all.

Bofur didn’t believe that, though. They were all loved equally in their Father’s eyes, and the All-Father, for had He not loved them, He would have smote their fathers to ruin. At least that was what Bofur was told as a boy.

Listening to the stone was most important, as the Great Smith had created the materials of the earth in Eru Illuvàtars image. To Listen was to hear the ancient tongue of the stone, what only dwarrows could hear, sense and even taste, if one had trained for such. It allowed insight into the earth, all its riches and ores, all its words and its history. The stone keeps time, all throughout the Ages, keeps secrets long forgotten and hides them deep. It does not yield truth unless one’s stone-sense is honed to the sharpness of the sharpest blades to cut through the earth. 

“To hear truth is to find what one seeks, the secrets of the Maker, the hidden vaults,” one miner told him when he was young. 

“What’s ‘truth’?” Bofur asked, scratching his head. The miner laughed, throwing his pickaxe over his shoulder. He was a friend of his father’s but he couldn’t remember his face or his name. 

“What we all seek, lad. What we’re here for. It’s what our Maker challenges us to find. You’ll know when you’re older.”

Bofur still didn’t know what the miner’s truth meant. 

When he was of a proper age, he was employed as a miner in the Ered Luin, and his first post was mining gold. In those days, gold was sparse in the mountains, so often the new miners were stationed there to learn how to Listen. Most didn’t understand what that meant until they got there, but Bofur was lucky because his father had taught him much. He would bring him out to the fields of stone outside the city and sit him down, telling him to feel the earth and the vibrations that came forth from it. Bombur would come too, sometimes, and together they learned how to decipher where there were cracks and crevices, where loose stone sat, and what lied beneath. 

Brikur said it was the most important lesson a dwarf could learn. He said it was a gift, to set their unwanted race apart from the Children of Eru. But Brikur never scolded his children when they made mistakes, and instead explained patiently what exactly to look for, what whispers to listen to, where to seek. When Bofur exclaimed he found a small crevice of crystals, Brikur opened up the pit to discover a geode cavern of luminous amethyst, sparkling in the sunlight. He tossed Bofur in the air since he was still a lad, and together they carved out the geode from the earth and let it sit in their home for many years, until they had to sell it for what food they could get. 

When his stone-sense was passable, Brikur allowed his eldest son to enlist in the arduous mine work in the depths of the Ered Luin. Though he had learned much from his father, Bofur learned tenfold in the mines. Quickly he was reassigned from the near-empty gold mines to the more plentiful iron mines where he followed closely with the miners there to find what they spoke of, what the stone told them, and they found riches. Once, maybe upon lucky happenstance, Bofur felt a glimmer in the stone. Raising his brawny arms to throw down one well-placed strike to the wall with his heavy and well-used pickaxe, the stone parted and inside laid a deep vein of peridot and glimpses of hematite. Peridot was not found in the mines there for a hundred years. For this, the division foreman treated his workers to a round of ale, and Bofur was congratulated with a secret pension of pipeweed and many slaps to the back that left him sore, but he grinned all the same.

It took many years for Bofur’s stone-sense to reach the capacity and accuracy of his father’s. He was a foreman of the silver mines for many years, and with him, his mines flourished, providing plenty of silver and other rare gems for the prosperity of the city. Everyone knew that Brikur knew the stone better than any dwarf. His workers loved him, and would delve into the earth at a moment’s hesitation if he asked it. Often, when Bofur was young, workers and friends of his stopped by and his mother would cook them all delicious meats and pies and pour the darkest ale. They even bounced Bofur and Bombur on their knees while they chatted, clanking their tankards together and laughing heartily in the lamplight. One of his father’s friends gave Bofur his first mining helmet for his nameday, set with a candle and everything, and one slipped him and his brother semi-precious stones to play with. He had sold those, too.

But then there was a deep rumble in Brikur’s mines, and he instantly knew. He saved those he could, but the wall collapsed and he was caught in the slide, dragged down to the pits of the Deep, his body crushed. No one dared ventured down so far, those mines were shut down long ago for fear of awakening another of Durin’s Bane, and thus there was not a body to bury. Bofur was told he had a noble and proper death, laid with the stones their Father had made like any other burial, but Bofur didn’t think so. He left one morning and never came back. Where was the properness in that? 

Bofur Brikur’s son Listened. His stone-sense surpassed any dwarrows’ in the mines, something that would have helped him get the position of a foreman, but there were greedier dwarrows who denied him. Thus he remained a miner and sold his precious geode and his semi-precious stones that he had shaped into marbles, sold many of his father’s things and his mother’s beautiful jewelry his father had made himself, and lived on by meager means. 

Some dwarrows had stone-sense but forgot it. Some considered them bastards, the holier, pious dwarves said, as they had lost the gift their Maker bestowed upon them. They lost the path and would forever be lost, never to hear the holy words once again. They could be brought back, if only by great sacrifice and devotion.

 _That’s a load of shite_ , Bofur thought as he sat in his cell. _How about great loss? Would that count?_ He scoffed. He wasn’t religious. Then he began to understand what that dwarf said all those years ago about truth. If only a little. 

Bofur was one who had nearly forgotten. Not entirely, but he didn’t Listen, he didn’t hear, didn’t feel or care to. After his wife died he couldn’t. It remained an innate ability while he mined but it couldn’t be considered proper Listening. His knew his father would be upset. 

Then he arrived at the Elvenking’s palace, carved from the earth by dwarrows of old, and suddenly he remembered. The stone hummed to him in smothered speech but he couldn’t comprehend. When his feet fell he sensed the vibrations and waves but they disappeared to nowhere. He felt disorientated and lost, even in the smallness of his cell. He didn’t feel proper, feeling so disconnected from his Father’s creation. 

So he sat once more. He would sit in the middle of his cell long after the elf guards left him with his food. It took much work to clear his mind, his thoughts always racing and running and bumping into each other even when he was concentrating. He let himself be still, feeling the air in his lungs expand, the calmness of the earth seeping into him and he absorbed it. Some dwarrows spent their life sitting in silence, Listening to the stone, deciphering, calculating. Bofur did it because he wanted to find his friends. He knew he could. The dungeons where he resided were deep within the palace, but not as deep as some of the cells went. Down they were black and cold, too deep for any proper elf. But yet down the elves went and Bofur wondered why. What could be down so deep the least likely creatures ventured? Someone was down there. Someone they wanted to hide. 

Bofur surmised it was Thorin, and he told Bilbo so himself when he finally found him. He felt him coming down the hall but when he looked to his cell door there was naught but air. Bofur laughed when their Burglar took off his ring and he embraced him through the bars. Bilbo told him his news of the others, and what Fíli had asked him to say, and Bofur’s heart couldn’t have been gladder if he tried. 

The dungeons were also wide. The palace and city went for miles beneath the ground, but the dungeons were the largest Bofur had ever known, and he had been in a few prisons (though Nori was usually with him. Funny, that). Sometimes he felt the scuff of boots or a cough that punched the walls. He heard khuzdûl from a gruff voice that uttered hilariously vile curses, but he couldn’t decipher who it was. They were there, maybe down two levels, up one perhaps, and he told Bilbo all that he could to help. 

“I found Ori today, just where you said he might be. How can you do that?” Bilbo asked incredulously, smiling wide with exhaustion in his eyes. 

Bofur shrugged, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “I don’t know, it just happens. Its hard to explain,” he was a little bashful, pulling at his braids. “Do you have any plans for getting us out yet? You’ve found everyone, right?”

“Yes, I have, but I haven’t the slightest clue. I’m working on it, I promise,” Bilbo sighed, looking dejected. Bofur felt a little sorry.

“It’s alright! Maybe you can get some wine for us, to help pass the time. There’s a cellar, I think, down that way and up a few staircases. That one red-head elf lady was talking about it the other day, for some party they’re going to have,” Bofur smiled exuberantly and Bilbo chuckled. 

“Ah, maybe. Wine sounds a bit nice at the moment.”

“Hurry along then, and bring a nice goblet for me to drink from, I shan’t be feeling improper while in the Elf King’s dungeons, you understand.”

Bilbo’s laugh rang quietly through the halls, and from it, Bofur might have felt the rolling of a barrel.


	27. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake - The Antlers  
> \--  
> Fili is the biggest shit talker in Middle-earth, but he learns some things, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence! The holidays were busy for me, with work and family and all that, but I was also in a rut with writers block for awhile. Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely end to your 2013 and a great New Year! :) Tauriel doesn't appear in this chapter, but I put her in the tags so I don't forget. And yes, there will be Kiliel, so boohoo if you don't like it. I love the pairing so much it hurts *cries in a corner*. 
> 
> Thanks to those who are reading! I appreciate you all so much!

When the elf guards came and brought them dinner, they found the blond and the dwarf that had screamed for days breaking apart their tankards from breakfast. 

“What are you doing?” one elf asked, peering into the dimly lit cell. Neither replied. “Don’t do that! Stop that right now!” he demanded, confused. What they were doing so openly? Were they making weapons? “I can see what you’re doing!”

“You have eyes, then,” the blond replied with a hint of humor, the only one out of the two who could speak Westron. “That’s good.”

“What are you doing?” a different elf asked, knitting his elegant brows together. 

“Gathering wood.”

“For what?”

The blond dwarf looked over his shoulder and grinned. “For toys.”

The grizzled older dwarf said something in their gnarled and abominable tongue, making the younger one laugh. The two elves only looked confused and discussed with each other in their own lilting language, then drifted back down the hall, leaving their supper behind. 

Fíli had told the truth. Bifur was complaining and dying for something to do to occupy himself since he woke up from his slumber a few mornings ago. Fíli was afraid he might start trying to hurl himself against the bars again so he thought of a way to get wood, or something like it, for him to carve. He started tossing their tankards against the wall to break them up so he could pull apart the metal bindings. Once he pried them off the wood was in nice condition, if a little ill-suited to proper carving, and the chunks were thick enough so he could make something out of them. Because the elves took every damn knife he carried on him, he tried scraping the metal bands together to see if he could get them sharp enough for Bifur to use to carve, but it was fruitless. He would need a grindstone to sharpen them enough. 

They ate their supper quietly and drank their ale, keeping their plates and tankards in the cell to break up when they were finished. Bifur started talking about the time his cousins managed to break open a whole barrel of mead at a pub because they were trying to get at what was inside, and Bifur ended up paying for the barrel, and taking care of sick and drunk cousins. Fíli thought it was hilarious. Bifur told him about how Bofur got into a pub fight over something ridiculous in his teen years, and another time with Nori… and _another_ time when someone had made inappropriate gestures about his betrothed behind his back and he had broken his hand. Fíli didn’t laugh anymore even though Bifur still chuckled. 

His mind wandered to other thoughts. He wanted to ask Bifur some questions that had been prying at his mind for a long while, but thought that it might have been strange. _Would asking him be alright? What if he tells me to go and ask Bofur instead? I can’t do that…,_ Fíli thought while staring at the food on his plate. He would have to try. 

“Bifur… did you know Bofur’s wife?” he asked in between a pause in his story, keeping his eyes to his mash of turnips. 

Bifur finished chewing on his heel of brown bread, looking at Fíli with an inquisitive look in his wild eyes. When the prince looked back at him he swallowed and set the bread down for use of his hands. «Aye, I knew her. Why do you ask?»

Fíli wished he hadn’t ever opened his mouth. “Because… she died, didn’t she? I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not by business.” He shook his head and took a bite of his food resolutely. 

Bifur spoke in old and forgotten khuzdûl, but the words he did understand made Fíli look up again. «She was lovely. That much was certain. She made my cousin think, instead of stuffing his foot in his mouth damn near every word that came from it» Bifur chuckled, scratching his axe like it was a part of his head. «Aye, she died. Shortly after they were married. It was too soon. Too soon. She shouldn’t have been killed, it is a sin to kill women, those whelps, they deserve death to come upon them and--» Bifur shouted curses to the cell and made Fíli nearly jump with his sudden outburst. Bifur growled, making angry gestures while Fíli watched wide-eyed and speechless. 

“She… she was murdered?” his voice came from his throat in harsh syllables, hardly sounding like himself. 

Bifur looked pointedly to the floor as if he was looking at the criminals in the face. He nodded. 

Fíli’s blood turned to ice. To kill anyone was a terrible crime among their people, and anyone caught was tried and often thrown into a cell for many, many years, and some even executed. But they received proper burials upon their death, where those who murdered women did not. To bodily harm a female was a grievous sin and unforgivable. Oftentimes they were beheaded and quartered, then given to the victim’s family to do with their limbs what they liked. Fed to dogs, left out to the elements to rot and decay; it was no proper death. There were no dirges sang for good passing, no rites given, their names erased from wills and documents. They went forgotten. Fíli had only ever heard of one occurrence in his whole life, and the dwarf who murdered his brother’s wife was never spoken of in the Ered Luin ever again. 

«They got away. No one found them. Bastards almost took my cousin also, his leg so broken he limps sometimes. Beaten within an inch of his life, _for nothing_. They were only looking for a taste of blood and a woman’s screams. They were both supposed to be home by morning but they were not so I went looking for them, and found them on the East Mountain Road».

 _I know that road. I hunted near there. I remember_ , Fíli thought, feeling like he might be sick. A terrible shiver ran through him, his head spinning. _Oh, gods, Bofur… why… you disappeared for twenty years. Your wife. Oh, your wife…_ he buried his face in his hands. _“It destroyed me… gnawed at me until I was raw”_ The look on his face, the emptiness in his eyes, the grief, the pain. _His wife was taken from him. Halla. She was murdered. In front of him._

He went to the bucket in the corner and emptied his stomach. Tears leaked from his eyes without his notice. He sat back against the cold wall of the cell and wiped at his face, disbelief coursing through his head, _Gods, it was that bad._ It was a wonder to him Bofur could still smile, make all his lewd jokes, sing and dance and be merry. A true dwarf, indeed, to be so resilient and steadfast. If anything, despite the horror in the face of such awful truth, Fíli felt for him more than he could have thought. 

Bifur scooted over to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and they sat in silence for awhile before Bifur began to sing an old dirge of remembrance. It was hollow and sad, and the words rang out the cell and reverberated into Fíli’s being. After he was finished, however, the heaviness receded and the tears dried and there was naught but a lingering thought of grief. Fíli had always been so affected by music, especially from songs of such honesty and reverence in memory of lost loved ones. He may not have known Halla, perhaps he would remember if he saw her face, but he mourned her for Bofur’s sake, and Bifur’s song alleviated that sadness a little. He understood now, if just barely. 

\-------

The next morning, the same two elves came by to drop off their breakfast, one with silvery gold hair and the other with chestnut brown, both long and tall and slender as saplings. Fíli wondered if a gust of wind could knock them down. How could someone so tall still be on their two feet? They were so far from the ground!

“Why do you want to make toys? To keep yourselves entertained?” the light-haired elf asked like it was an insult, thinking they were insolent and bored children (which was mostly true, but it wasn’t an insult. It was their fault!) He and his guard friend sniggered at his jab, finding it humorous. 

Bifur grunted, picking food out of his teeth with a splinter while Fíli rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, but more to keep from looking at your ugly faces.”

The elves’ smiles fell at that and returned to scowls. “No, you will not get your whittling knife.”

“Not if you talk like that,” the darker-haired elf added. 

“I’m not going to bow and kiss your feet, either,” Fíli barked. 

“Maybe you should consider it. My boots need a good cleaning, maybe your beard will scrub it off,” the first elf said, a wicked grin starting on his face. 

“Do you store food in your mustache?” the second elf asked, the both of them staring to laugh again. Fíli glared at them harshly, his hands gripping the bars of his cell tight. He clenched his jaw. He tried to rein in his temper for it could be as bad as Thorin’s sometimes, and he needed that knife for Bifur. _If only I didn’t let them take all mine!_

“I won’t try to get out or stab you. I would be stupid to try anyway, you tree-shaggers and your long legs will catch me with my stumpy ones before I could get around that corner,” he looked down the hall where the corner was and where they often disappeared around. The two elves looked down their noses, seeming to have missed the his slight when they smiled at him, but it wasn’t kindly. 

“We could, count on that,” the second elf said, the cockier one out of the two, and with a rather annoying voice that made him sound like he had a cold. 

“But still, no whittling knife. Your insane friend might hurt himself,” the first elf replied, tossing his silvery hair, probably higher in rank than the second one, but they were both so tremendously _annoying_. This one smelled like too many flowers. Bifur shouted something at the elves that made the three of them laugh, but Fíli for different reasons. Fíli licked his lips and thought of something quick.

“Alright, then. Y’see, he’s got an axe in his head that he can use just as well to carve. Maybe he’ll think you’re the wood and he’ll shave you like potatoes. No worries, though, at least not for me. You elves, however…,” he shrugged, looking unconcerned. 

“He wouldn’t dare take it out, it’s lodged in his head,” the brown-haired elf snorted, narrowing his eyes and crossing his spindly arms. 

“Oh, I’ve seen him do it. And when he does take it out, he goes nuts. Completely bonkers. The only things he recognizes are dwarves and the scent of blood, and everything else is fair game to kill. He wouldn’t kill me. But, like I said, I can’t guarantee your safety,” Fíli sat on the floor next to the door, picking his nails. For extra measure Bifur started growling and shaking his fists, pacing around the cell.

The first elf barked out an uncertain laugh to hide his obvious, growing doubt. “He’s behind iron bars. He can’t hurt us.”

Fíli tsked, taking more confidence in this web he had started spinning in earnest. _They are so unknowledgeable, it’s priceless. They don’t even know._ “Have you heard of dwarfish berserkers?” The silence of the elves told him they had not. 

Fíli grinned to himself and looked over his shoulder briefly to give Bifur a wink. He stood up and held onto the bars once more, giving the elves pretend dark looks like what he was about to tell them was rather terrible. “Some men, brutes by even our people’s standards, are vicious when provoked. They got into battle as regular men, but they can turn into berserkers whenever they wish. They get ten times as strong, ten times as fast, and become like bulls when they have their eyes set on a target. Complete tunnel vision, nothing can get in their way,” Fíli explained, pleased to see the elves hanging on his words in stunned horror. “Not even iron bars. I’ve seen a berserker rent steel with his bare fist, and another break an orc clean in half. The thing, though, is that they only attack others outside our race, so really, I’m safer in here than you are out there.”

The elf with the silvery hair gaped hilariously. “Is he a berserker?” he nearly whispered, pointing to Bifur still growling behind him. 

Fíli put his elbows on one of the horizontal bars and pressed his face between the vertical ones. “Aye, he is. You saw him when he was raging. Wouldn’t stop for days. That’s just the beginning.”

The second elf turned to the first and said in a low voice, “It took five of us to get him here. He broke Eir’s nose so bad he knocked him out and had to get it surgically fixed. If Tauriel hadn’t calmed him…,” Their faces paled further. 

Pretending he hadn’t completely heard them, Fíli said, “Well, seeing as you can’t get me a mere whittling knife, I’ll see about taking his axe out. It’ll possibly trigger his berserker tendencies, but if there’s nothing that can be done for it…,” Fíli sighed reluctantly and turned to go to Bifur. 

There was a short pause where the elves considered the situation, and finally, the first elf burst. “No! Wait!” he leapt to the bars. “No, don’t, don’t do that. We’ll bring you the knife, if you promise to leave the axe in his head. 

Fíli could have cheered but he refrained. “Of course I’ll promise. I’d rather not be witness to your needless murders, if you get my meaning,” _and now, for the sweet cream on top._ “Thank you, lads. We’ll be grateful for that carving knife.”

The elves nodded and stalked away like spurned deer. Once they were far enough down the hall, Fíli and Bifur high-fived and laughed at the stupidity of elves.

That night for supper, the same two elves slid their plates under the gap of the cell door and left just as quickly as they came. Lifting his plate, there was a small knife attached to the bottom. Fíli grinned and tossed it to Bifur, who caught it with a cheer.


	28. Fjögur Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjögur Piano - Sigur Rós  
> \--  
> Dreams, both good and bad.

Bofur blinked his eyes open. Beautiful sunlight filtered in through the curtains with a gentle breeze, carrying the smell of flowers and summer. He heard the bees hum outside with the sound of birds in song, and rolling his head to the side, Fíli quietly snored next to him. He wasn’t a dwarf to snore so loudly to wake himself up, like Bombur or Bofur himself could do, but his breath would wheeze past his lips every now and then and Bofur found it utterly charming. 

He thought he was at Beorn’s but the bed was stuffed with down. There were not carvings everywhere, either, so he must be back in the Ered Luin (in a much better bed), perhaps Rivendell… or maybe in some home he shared with Fíli. He liked that. But it didn’t matter as he moved to kiss his cheek. His stubble was soft beneath his lips, smelling of cedar and the fresh linens they slept in. Bofur brought a hand out from the covers to brush some of his yellow hair behind his ear, and then moved to kiss his collarbone softly. 

One thing Bofur loved doing most was waking Fíli up with kisses or his hand about his half-hard cock, usually both at once. Feeling him waken and stiffen as he opened his eyes with a stupid smile was one of the things he loved most in the world. He crawled beneath the covers, leaving just a little over his head so he could look up Fíli’s body and watch his face, like he was in a little cave. 

He planted kisses down the stripe of wispy hairs in the center of his abdomen, his nose and mustache following as he went. He settled between Fíli’s strong thighs, letting his hands slide down his sides, holding onto his hips while he nuzzled his bare cock. It was warm against his cheek, thickening as he stimulated it with his beard while Fíli was still asleep. The blond shifted his hips and sucked in a small breath but didn’t wake, not yet. Bofur smiled. He brought a hand over his hip to wrap around the base of him loosely, placing gentle kisses along the smooth side. Then he took Fíli into his mouth and shuddered bodily. He swirled and lapped and licked his tongue around the head like he was kissing Fíli on the lips and battling his tongue and not his prick. A salty bead formed at the slit and Bofur swiped his tongue to mop it up. 

Fíli gasped awake and Bofur flicked his eyes upward to see his beautiful blue ones laughing at him. He tangled his thick and calloused fingers into Bofur’s hair (how Bofur loved those fingers) and smiled brightly and lazily in the hazy sunlight. Bofur would never get over how stunningly beautiful he could be. 

“G’morning, love,” Bofur said against the mixed blond and brown curls, kissing the hollow of his hip and pulling Fíli in long, slow strokes. 

“G’mornin’ to you,” Fíli said huskily, his voice still stained with sleep. Bofur chuckled deep in his chest, his heart swelling. _Perfect._

“I love you,” he replied, raising a dark brow, and he moved back to take him into his mouth again. _I said that, I said it, I love you, I love you, I love you._ But yet it seemed so ordinary and so in place…

“I love you, too, you cheeky bastard,” Fíli said with a laugh but his voice faded, far off, and his words slipped into the air as _I love you_ , too ran through Bofur’s head. 

He didn’t get to see Fíli at the height of his pleasure before he woke up to his dark and lonely cell. The sunlight blew away like dust in the wind, the bed replaced with a hard and sweaty pallet on a stone floor, and he was alone with nothing but the sound of his quick breath to fill his ears. 

Bofur’s heart was racing and his chest expanded with each deep breath he took and exhaled. _No, no, no, why did it have to be a dream, why did it have to be a dream, damn it all. Mahal’s bloody hammer. Why did it have to be a dream?_ He squeezed his eyes shut and tried recalling the images back to his head. Fíli and his luminous smile and his hair in a golden corona around his head among the soft pillows, the wisp of his skin… anything else was hard to come by. 

_I love you._

He said that, didn’t he? And Fíli, too. But it was a dream. 

Bofur sighed, finding it hopeless. He moved to sit up only to stop when he felt a sticky warmth between his legs that his trousers clung to. He let out a laugh that shook the walls of his cell. “Well! It was a good dream, I must say,” he said to himself while throwing off the blanket from his legs. 

He hadn’t actually came in his sleep in years, probably not since his thirties. He continued to laugh as he stripped from his only pair of trousers to turn them inside out to clean off what he could. _It’s been weeks._ Bilbo told him he had found most of the company, save for Thorin and Dwalin, but that was three days ago. He gave him Fíli’s message and Bofur felt a little better, but not enough for true relief. He hoped Bilbo has found them since. He wanted out of these cells. 

Bofur felt like he was in a daze the rest of his waking hours, for it couldn’t be called day, really, while he had not a clue what the sun looked like, or what time it actually was. He tapped out dance forms while pretending he was teaching Fíli how to move his feet gracefully, since he imagined he was a right brute when trying to do so with his two left feet. He was glorious in battle, but dancing? He was a little clumsy at Beorn’s, he would need practice, but he wasn’t _bad._ Bofur chuckled, imagining Fíli watching his feet while he led him. 

When the elves stopped by to give him his breakfast, the red-haired captain complimented his footwork. Bofur bowed deeply and took his tankard of watered wine with a grateful smile. They asked him for a story and Bofur happily obliged. 

\-------

Fíli turned and the sounds of laughter and music rang in his ears; the clatter of dishes, the clang of mugs, the smells of beer and a smoky fire. Warmth buzzed in his stomach after a swallow of rich ale, a skirt swishing against his side. Fiddles played as he smiled at the figure next to him, the face indiscernible but Fíli knew at the back of his mind the red lips, the freckles, clever and slender hands and a soft downy beard. 

He was swept up in a dance by the softly curved figure and the sounds and smells swirled around him and swam in his head. The hand in his was soft and warm and he couldn’t help a smile. 

Fíli gasped awake, the songs of dance and merriment falling away from his eyes and ears. He blinked furiously to bring the darkness of his cell into focus, and the tall shape standing on the other side of the cell door. 

She furrowed her brows, watching him. She must have stopped by to check on them, only to find Fíli in the throes of his dreams. 

“You were tossing in your sleep,” she said softly, her red hair illuminated like fire from the sconce behind her on the wall. She was one of the elves who captured them, and now one of their jailers, but she had a kind countenance Fíli didn’t know how to make out. She certainly wasn’t foolish like her two other underlings, the ones who had so freely given them the whittling knife. 

“It wasn’t a good dream,” Fíli found himself saying through his deep breaths, looking over to see Bifur still snoring. “A nightmare, you might say.”

She nodded and didn’t say anything else, only pursed her lips and disappeared down the corridor. Fíli brought a trembling hand to his face, pressing his fingers to his eyes and hoping he wouldn’t become sick. His stomach roiled. He lied down on his side facing the wall and curled his knees to his chest, hating himself more every time thoughts of his dreams came back. They weren’t really dreams, though, more visions of what his Longing made him yearn for; to make him desire his One. His Maker thought it a splendid idea to plague him with such images when Fíli wanted nothing more than Bofur. He felt disgusted and ashamed, and more than a little hateful for this Longing he was burdened with. He hadn’t had such dreams in so long, he had almost forgotten what they materialized to be, and now that it came back like a force, he wanted nothing more than to wipe his mind clean again, but Bofur was lost to him. _Oh, Bofur. My heart._

Dwarves who had a Longing thought it a blessing. Fíli did not. He never liked his Longing, there was always a lingering bad feeling at the back of his throat whenever he dreamed or dwelt too heavily on it, even if it seemed like he was having a good time in his dreams. Kíli didn’t quite understand why he felt like such, but he tried to console him in saying that he was only nervous to meet his One. Fíli didn’t have the heart to tell him that was never more far from the truth, especially recently. Kíli was blessed with a beautiful Longing, and he had first told Fíli his dreams in the darkness of their shared room so long ago. He dreamed of running beneath the tall trees, roofed with speckled starlight, prancing under boughs with the wind whispering on the leaves, chasing ribbons of violent red hair. 

But Fíli’s Longing dreams were in a dirty, smelly pub with too much music and too much beer—and it was all worse because those were some of his favorite things. He couldn’t shake the heaviness of his disgust or his shame because he didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t want this Longing, the soft hands, the red-lipped smiles, or the freckles, he wanted _Bofur_ , and that was all. _Fíli_ wanted Bofur, but this wretched part of him, thrust upon him against his will, wanted someone else. 

Weakened from loneliness and exhaustion, mingled with all his negative, resentful emotions upon himself, Fíli silently cried into his bed pallet. Bofur would leave him if he knew exactly what he dreamed of. He would say Fíli wasn’t worth it and he would go, and he would let him because it was true. Bofur has his demons but at least he could dispel them and Fíli would stand by him, but Fíli couldn’t get rid of this demon. Would Bofur stand by him, when his Longing pulled him further and farther until Fíli did something unforgivable? Would Bofur be there then?

Fíli knew in his heart that he wouldn’t. Or, if it could be any worse, Bofur would and let Fíli torture him until there wasn’t anything left. That was almost as bad as being left, and worse still because it seemed more likely. Bofur, that reckless, foolish, stout-hearted, stubborn dwarf cared too much to just _leave_ , even if it was the easiest thing to do. And it made him sick because would Fíli do that, if it ever came to it? Would he do that to Bofur? He didn’t know what his Longing would make him do. He has heard stories of dwarrows who would literally do anything for their Ones, going so far as to kill, to kill themselves, to do ridiculous things that no one would do otherwise. He didn’t _know._ And it frightened him almost more than that dragon in the mountain. 

“Please,” Fíli rasped to his pallet, the woolen blanket pulled over his head, praying that his Maker would hear him. “ _please_ , just make it stop. I don’t want it, I never wanted it. Just… take it away, please,” he sobbed quietly. If he could only scream and break something, he would, by all the Seven Fathers, he would. But it wouldn’t change anything. 

The cell was silent. He went unheard. Nothing he could do would make it different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brb while I cry myself to sleep. why did I have to write such a sad chapter, ughhh. I mean, total polar opposites! :'''''(
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone! Next chapter: the grand escape.


	29. I Still Feel Her Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Still Feel Her Pt. 4 - Emarosa (not easy listening, bahah)  
> \--  
> The escape from Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short because the next one is a lot better, haha. I'll post that one in a few days. Anyway, thanks for reading, everyone, and for your lovely feedback!

“What are we supposed to do now?” Bofur stuck his head out of the barrel, furrowing his brows. The others underneath him and beside him poked their heads out also, waiting for Bilbo’s answer. 

Bilbo chuckled to himself, holding onto a tall lever. “Hold your breaths,” he said in finality, pulling the lever. 

“What? Oh!—,” The barrels started rolling somewhere, downward? Then they dropped into an underground river, making Bofur hold onto his hat and sputter water as he tried to shake the sudden cold from himself once he resurfaced. 

“A river! How’re we supposed to get out like this? And in barrels!” Glòin complained, moving his hair from his eyes as they clattered into each other once they started moving downstream. 

“It should lead us into the forest toward the lake,” Dwalin replied gruffly, looking none too happy. “Can’t say I think it’s the best idea. They will surely find us.”

“It’ll have to do,” Thorin said, turning forward to paddle down river, as awkward as it was. 

Bofur adjusted his hat on his head, still a little confused, but a barrel ride should be a bit of fun. Then a loud splash and splutter burst next to him and his barrel tipped. He looked over the side and saw Bilbo gripping onto the ropes, gasping for breath and looking just a bit frightened. Thorin must have heard because he looked over his shoulder with the rest of the company following suit and saw that Bilbo had joined them. “Good thinking, Mister Baggins,” he said with a slight smile. Bilbo raised a hand, almost like saying ‘you’re welcome’, and clung tighter onto the barrel. 

“I think it should be fun,” Bofur said, paddling behind Bifur, giving Bilbo a wink.

“Not for me,” Bilbo replied quietly, spitting water out of his mouth.

The cave opened up to a short valley below the trees yellow in the bright afternoon sun, but shortly Thorin could be heard shouting “Hang on!” and then everything was a bit of a mess. A great horn sounded and suddenly there were elves about and the river gate shut, then orcs! Orcs! Bofur groaned. 

He rolled his eyes just as Kíli was climbing out of his barrel and hopping across the rims of the others. He was caught in hand-to-hand with an orc, quickly overtaking him and throwing him into the river for Nori to strangle. Dwalin took the sword from the fallen orc and tossed it to Kíli, who slaughtered the next orc to come upon him. Another orc fell into the river and Ori held him by the scruff of his neck and punched harder than Bofur had ever seen anyone, and leapt to help him. 

Then there was a scream from above on the overpass and Fíli shouted, “Kíli!” His voice caught Bofur’s attention from mauling the orc at hand, and craning his neck he saw Kíli crumple to the stone floor with an arrow shaft in his thigh. Then the red-headed elf lady shot arrow after arrow into the orc that was descending upon the dwarf, and then she was leaping left and right with her long daggers and sharp arrows, slaying every orc she encountered with astounding grace and surety. 

In the frenzy before Kíli could register what had happened, for he was watching the elf captain with wide eyes, Fíli climbed out of his barrel and said something to his brother, convincing him to jump back into the empty barrel he had left. He broke the arrow shaft in his leg with a sharp cry, his face pinched as the pain of his wounded leg being jostled and soaked with river water made it burn with fire. Fíli pulled the lever to open the river gate, dodging a few heavy handed swings from an orc, and he kicked the creature’s knees in sideways to break them, giving him enough time to jump into the barrel Bofur had held onto so it wouldn’t float away. As soon as he jumped in he pushed them off the side of the stone side of the river just as the wounded orc crawled toward them, howling and screeching. 

Orcs were chasing them along the river banks, trying to fight those who got too close to the edge, all the while fighting the woodland elves that pursued them. Bofur narrowly missed a jagged scimitar that would have sliced his head off at the neck but he ducked into his barrel just in time. Nori tossed him a stolen orcish axe when he raised his head, and he tossed it back to Fíli who looked like he was about to be jumped by an oncoming orc from the shore. He caught it by the handle and expertly into the beast’s chest. When an ugly warrior tried again to hack at him, Bofur caught his ankle and stole his gnarled sword before the orc fell into the river rapids. He grinned. He felt a lot better with a weapon in his hand, even if it was awfully crude, the handle roughened with black blood. 

There was a log across the river and in front of him he saw Thorin hack at it in the middle, a line of orcs along the trunk. Bofur thrust his sword into the same spot before he passed under, making the gouge deeper. Dwalin swung his axe with enough force to break the log in half, the weight of the orcs doing the rest as they tumbled into the waters, howling. 

Then, slowly, the elves faded away around them, and the river continued bringing them downstream so fast not even the orcs could keep up for long. It felt like a long while tumbling down the river, trying to steer and maneuver his barrel so as to not tumble out of it. Bilbo had disappeared from his barrel some time ago, now clinging onto Kíli’s and trying to keep his head above water, looking more and more like a drowned cat. Bofur then thought that this was not much fun at all. No, it was quite terrible, actually, and he was dizzy and wet and cold, but Bilbo was far worse off than he was. 

After awhile the river lost its current and it slowly meandered, so they paddled to some flat rocks onto the shore to figure out their next plan of action. Bofur crawled out of his barrel and pulled it up onto the rocks, then fell to his knees for he could hardly stand. His braids had come undone and every bit of him was soaked. He sat and started pulling off his boots and socks to empty them and wring them out of the water as best he could. 

Bilbo and a troupe of his companions had arrived at his cell what felt like hours and hours ago. The hobbit grinned as he unlocked his door and almost as soon as he had pulled it open Fíli leapt into cell and threw his arms around his neck so fast Bofur staggered back with a huff of surprised laughter. Fíli clung to him almost alarmingly tight, burying his nose into Bofur’s neck and muttering some things Bofur didn’t quite hear. Then Fíli kissed him desperately, holding his face and pecking his lips while Bilbo urged them to follow him. Fíli moved off him before Bofur could react, the look on his face full of relief in the candlelight but there was something else hidden there Bofur didn’t understand. He almost looked sad, regretful, which worried him a little because shouldn’t he be happy to be escaping? Wasn’t he worried for Bofur? Maybe that was a little selfish, but he did seem quite happy to see him, but… something was off. Bofur was ecstatic. He had gotten so _bored_. But before he could ask Fíli what was wrong, he saw all the wine barrels and bottles and realized they were in the cellars of Thranduil’s palace. 

Then everything happened so fast and he was tumbling down a river and now he was dumping water out of his boots and wringing out his hat. After he got the last soggy boot on, he went over to where Fíli was kneeling next to Kíli’s side, and as he got closer, he could see a deep red shimmer on his wet trousers. 

“Kíli’s been shot,” Fíli said seriously in a hushed voice, holding a ripped cloth from the hem of his own tunic to Kíli’s thigh. 

Bofur knelt on Kíli’s other side while he hissed and winced. “We have to take out the arrow, don’t we?” he asked quietly, taking Fíli’s hint, worry staining his voice. 

“It’s far too deep, we’ll need pliers to pull it out,” Fíli replied, knitting his brows when Kíli jerked. 

“Pliers?!” the younger dwarf almost squeaked, horror and pain mixed on his face. 

Then there was a dull thud and thrum and then a pull of a bowstring. Kíli had reacted quicker than either Bofur or Fíli had even known what was happening, snatching a stone and holding it aloft to throw, but an arrow expertly knocked it out of his hands. Bofur jumped to his feet and saw that Dwalin was standing protectively in front of Ori, and Kíli’s attention and all the others were focused on a tall man with a taller bow pointing an arrow right at them. 

The man’s name was Bard and he happened to have a small ship moored nearby to take them across the lake. Balin managed to convince him to bring them across, at the cost of the company turning out their pockets. Bofur didn’t have a single coin on him, or anything of value for that matter. He was about to offer up his earring for the small bit of silver on it, at least until Thorin mentioned Glòin had not yet given anything up. He was the money changer of the company so he took care of the expenses, and he was probably the richest out of all of them, but yet he complained and refused. He did end up having a bag of coins, but it took seeing the shadow of the Lonely Mountain for him to give it up. 

Bofur stared open-mouthed at it. After all the stories he has heard throughout his childhood, after all this way, he was laying eyes upon the legendary home of his people, this close, for the first time. Not even his father or his father’s father had ever seen the sight. Even shrouded in the cool mists of the lake around them, the shadow of the Mountain loomed great behind the clouds, and what beauty. Bofur sighed and smiled, and looking at all the elder dwarrows amongst them and seeing such relief and admiration wash over them made Bofur feel truly proud; of himself and the rest of them, for even getting this far. They were so close. He was honored to be in such company as these companions.   
Bard rushed up to Thorin and demanded he pay them now, and Thorin promptly denied him until their payment was fulfilled. Bard’s answer was rather unexpected. 

“If you value your freedom, you’ll do as I say,” he said grimly, his face hard as stone.


	30. The John Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The John Wayne - Little Green Cars  
> \--  
> Fili does not put up with Kili's shit, and Bofur is a sweetheart.

Bard’s daughters were absolutely lovely. Despite their frowning, confused faces at seeing so many dwarrows climbing out of their toilet at once, they were surprisingly adaptable and swift in passing out dry clothes and blankets. Bofur didn’t quite catch their names at first, but he smiled at them nonetheless with a quiet thank you. They smiled shyly in return and ducked their heads, moving to the next dwarf. 

Bofur didn’t have any bindings to braid his hair back and he didn’t want to trouble Bard’s girls for a comb, especially since he was so dirty. It would be awfully rude to use their combs if he didn’t at least properly bathe, so he settled to using his fingers as best he could. He managed his fingers through Bifur’s hair also because he had trouble doing it himself due to his axe. 

“You surprised me, Bom! Fighting in that barrel and all. Never knew you had it in you!” Bofur teased his brother, nudging him as he nibbled on a biscuit. Bombur smiled between his stuffed and ruddy cheeks. He swallowed and wiped his hands on his overlarge belly. “It’s a wonder you even managed to _fit_ into one of those barrels,” Bofur added and Bombur chuckled. 

“It was great fun, actually. Quite surprised myself, also. Oh—thank you, dear!” Bombur said when the smallest of Bard’s children held a tray up with more biscuits and small steaming cups of tea, her eyes incredulous. She started at Bombur in wonderment, and Bofur and Bifur, too, but her eyes were wide at Bombur’s rotund belly.

“How are you so big?” she asked, a smile forming on her face. 

“Tilda! Don’t be rude!” the eldest girl called from the other side of the large room, starting up a meager stew for supper. 

Bofur chuckled deep in laughter and Bombur grinned wide. Bifur smiled a little, but he was staring off out the window over the wet and smoky city of Laketown. Bofur knelt down next to his brother in front of the girl—Tilda, he surmised from her sister—and smiled brightly. “You wouldn’t believe how much he eats, wee lass. He could eat a whole pig in one sitting, and still have room for dessert.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she let out a small gasp. “A whole pig?!”

“Aye. Feet and all.”

Her face scrunched at that. “I don’t like pigs’ feet.”

Bombur gasped in mock offence. “Oh, no, not if you put a bit of butter and honey on them! They can be quiet good, I assure you, lass.”

Tilda looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “I’ve only had honey once, when I was six. Da managed to get a lucky, unmarked barrel when he did.”

Bofur raised his brows and opened his mouth to reply but her sister called her over to help with supper. Bofur shooed her off and she left the three of them with a small wave, walking to the other end of the house with a spring in her step. Bofur sat back on the window bench next to Bombur with a sigh. “Ah, she is young,” he said, allowing some of his weariness to show through as he patted down his trousers. 

“I’d reckon she’s about the same age as my Brikur,” Bombur said, his voice growing distant as his family came back to mind. Bofur put a hand on his shoulder, knowing without having to ask how much he missed them. He didn’t even have to look at Bombur to know; his voice said everything. Bofur missed them too. His youngest son was born eleven years before the start of the quest, bright red hair and all, and he seemed to be about as young as Tilda, in dwarfish years, at least. He was a curious youth, always asking questions and talking nonstop. Bofur liked to brag that he got that part of his personality from his uncle, and sometimes Bombur and his wife Bìrna would find them chatting up a storm by the fire. 

“Oh, Bofur,” Bombur sighed, his face drooping into his chins. “Sometimes I wonder if this was worth it. Just now I got an awful dread: if I were to die, and never seen my children again. You saw their faces when we left… it still breaks my heart, just thinking about it.”

While Bombur was speaking, Bofur fished out the pipe he had made for Fíli weeks and weeks ago, waterlogged and slightly cracked. He paused in examining it when he heard the heaviness in his brother’s words, the sadness in his tone, and it lit a fire in him. 

After a long silence, Bofur put his elbows on his knees. “Remember the nights Bìrna couldn’t give enough milk because we had gone all day on hardbread? The smallness in Bofnir and Bofir’s trousers, the shortened hem of Bòma’s dress? When shoes were broken we barely had enough coin to repair them because we couldn’t afford replacements? The hours you worked at the tavern, me in the mines, Bìrna sewing, Bifur selling his toys… and Bombir when he was old enough to apprentice to a stone mason. Remembering what sort of live we’ve lived since ‘adad died, grabbing for coin before we could even grasp them… just thinking about all that and the pit it puts in my stomach tells me that this is worth it. For your children and for your wife. I started this with less than noble reasons for my own selfish wants, but now I see.” 

Bofur turned to Bombur, who was wiping tears from eyes, and Bifur moved in his chair to face them with an inquiring tilt of his head. Bofur offered a smile to his brother, putting a gentle hand on his arm. “And you remember the promise Thorin made to you, if we were not to return.”

“Words are wind, Bofur, you know that,” Bombur said staunchly, but even so, a glimmer of hope flickered in his warm brown eyes. 

“The lady Dìs was there. She would not let such promises go unfulfilled, especially with children involved. She’s a hard woman, but she would not. She let her own sons come along on this quest,” Bofur’s mouth quirked a little. _And a good thing, too_.

Bombur nodded silently and looked down to his meaty hands over his belly. Bofur looked up to see Thorin, Fíli, Kíli and Dwalin standing by the window, deep in conversation of some sorts. Despite the water and his haggard clothes from weeks in confinement in a cell, Fíli was resilient as ever, tall and proud. His hair was a royal mess, snarled and dirty, but it still glistened with hints of gold in the white light from the windows. They hadn’t much time for talk since beside the river and Fíli was constantly by Kíli’s side, Thorin lingering nearby, but even so, it was a comfort to see him. 

He looked down to the pipe between his hands, still useable despite the cracks; it would need putty and to be dried out properly, but it still looked the same since Beorn’s. He saved it from the elves’ pilfering by stowing it in his unders, quite uncomfortable, but managed to keep it. Looking at it, he wondered when he would be able to give it to him, since it still needed to be finished, and he considered ever giving it to him at all. 

Sighing, he put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, a headache wedging into his head like a pike. He sat up and handed the pipe to Bombur, who was surprised to take it. “Hold onto that, would you?” he asked and stood up before he received a reply. He walked over to where Fíli was leading Kíli away to a nearby chair, his arm strung over his shoulders. 

“Fíli, I’m fine, really. It’s just a wound, I’ve had many before,” Kíli was muttering as Bofur approached, pushing off his brother to walk stiffly the rest of the way to the chair himself.  
“Not an orc wound like that. It hit you deep, I saw you stagger and fall, Kíli,” Fíli said, watching his brother with narrowed eyes as he lowered himself cautiously to the chair, straightening his hurt leg and wincing. 

“Have you got the arrow out?” Bofur asked, unnoticed until now. He put his cold hands into the blue sleeves of borrowed tunic, ignoring Kíli’s glare. 

Fíli glanced at him before shaking his head, walking over to Kíli and kneeling next to his injured thigh. “It’s _alright_ —,” Kíli started to protest but Fíli cut him off with a fierce retort, his patience worn thin. Fíli understood that Kíli didn’t want to appear weak, but his understating was obvious. 

“A wound it may be, it still has the arrow lodged in it, and no matter what you say, it would be foolhardy and dangerous to leave it. Bofur, go get Òin.”

“Fíli—,”

“ _Kíli_ , I swear, do not speak another protest or I will become very unkind,” to make his point clear, he was rough on taking off the makeshift bandages, causing Kíli to groan and hiss. 

Bofur turned and went to fetch the old healer, and asked Bard’s son, Bain, if there were any pliers and alcohol they could use at Òin’s behest. When he went to go fetch the pliers, Sigrid, the eldest daughter, found some herbs to cleanse the wound since they had no alcohol, and some different herbs that were found around the house in the small planters to help it heal. It didn’t take Òin long to get the arrowhead out despite Kíli’s writhing, helped only by Fíli and Bofur while Bain and Sigrid stood nearby if they needed anything else. The herbs the eldest daughter had brought were soothing to the pain. When she saw the wound she brought another leafy plant over without having to be asked, much to the old healer’s thanks and Fíli’s relief. 

Òin examined the wound with a cross look, his brows furrowed, and his reassurance was doubtful when he bound Kíli’s leg once more in clean bandages.

“It should be much healed within a few days, if we keep a careful eye on it. Just don’t walk on it too much, lad,” Òin said and tied up the bandages. Before he left, Sigrid still lingered, her brother off somewhere helping Tilda, and she was wringing her hands in front of her apron. 

“If ye need anythin’, just ask, alright? Supper’s just about done,” she offered shyly, obviously trying to be brave and hospitable in front of these mysterious dwarrows, and Bofur thought it was quiet honorable of her. Looking at the two brothers and seeing that neither was going to say anything in acknowledgement, Bofur smiled softly at her and bowed.   
“Thank you, Miss Sigrid, and know that we are always at your service,” he said in a kindly voice. Seeming not to know what to make of that, she ducked her head in a nod and turned to go end the pot over the fire. 

Since the weapons Bard was only able to provide were extremely unsatisfactory, the company had to wait until dark to go to Laketown’s armory, though most everyone was anxious and a little miffed to do so. Durin’s Day was looming close, the day after tomorrow, and they were eager to leave the town to venture to the Mountain. They sat quietly, however, and chatted amongst themselves until the supper was done, and Fíli managed to goad a few spoonfuls of the stew into Kíli’s mouth before he fell asleep. Bofur finished his watery portion and waited until Fíli finished in silence to take both their bowls to the kitchen to be washed. Tilda stepped in front of him, just a few inches shorter than him, and took the bowls without a word and a bright dimpled smile before Bofur could even attempt to help the cleanup. Sigrid shooed any dwarf away from the kitchen who tried to help, not out of suspicion but because she knew they were exhausted, and since Bard had left somewhere, Bain was able to keep a better eye on them, unbeknownst to the dwarrows. 

If things were different, Bofur would have gone back over to Bifur and Bombur for their inherent comfort he was always able to find in their presence, but something told him to remain at Fíli’s side. If the pale and serious look on his face hadn’t been so dire, if it hadn’t struck Bofur right in his heart, he would let him be, standing by the window and gazing at the wind lance. But he felt that Fíli would need him, at least while Kíli found a bit of sleep, and Bofur was just the person to do that. 

He stood next to Fíli with his arms crossed in contemplation, looking at the curious contraption that was called the wind lance. “I always thought it was giant, like a huge crossbow. That’s how I imagined it, anyway,” he said lightheartedly and with a smile but Fíli gave no evidence he had even heard him. Instead, his shoulders sunk a little and he sighed dejectedly. That would not do. “Certainly not that elegant. My reckoning was far more ridiculous. The legendary wind lance of Men—a giant, obnoxious crossbow? I should stop thinking about weaponry and worry about toys. Much easier.”

Bofur’s whimsical smile faded when Fíli pursed his lips and looked down to his boots, a melancholy settling over him Bofur had not yet seen in the prince. It was disheartening. He lost his light heart as it sank and his good humor went with it. He put a hand on his shoulder and Fíli leaned into it, his eyes still downcast, grey thumbprints beneath his eyes.

Bofur stepped forward, close, but not enough to bring unwanted attention. Fíli scuffed his boots on the floor. “What is weighing so heavily on your mind, Fíli?” Bofur asked softly, watching him chew his lip. 

“It’s… it’s Kíli,” Fíli struggled to say, furrowing and unfurrowing his brows, keeping his eyes away from Bofur’s. He kneaded his fingers into Fíli’s shoulder comfortingly. “I have a bad feeling. His leg isn’t looking good, at all. It was blackening.”

“Òin said it should heal soon,” Bofur reminded him. 

“He didn’t sound very hopeful. And Kíli… he’s paling. He couldn’t eat his stew, it made him feel sick,” Fíli swiped a hand over his face and rubbed his fingers in his beard before turning away into an alcove, behind a loose curtain. Bofur followed him, again putting his hands on his shoulders so he would face him, closer this time. 

“What if that arrow hit him somewhere else? What if that elf woman didn’t shoot down those orcs coming after him?” Fíli whispered in a raspy voice, his tone raising a few octaves at a time. “What if… what if he _dies_ , Bofur? Before… before he even gets to Erebor, before he ever sees our family home…,” then he swallowed a shaky breath, keeping himself from shedding tears. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be, I…” he tried to turn away but Bofur caught him in his arms and held his head to his neck. 

“It’s alright. I know why you worry, and you should, for being his older brother. I know. But you’re thinking about the what-if’s and it’s not doing you any good,” Bofur ran his hand along Fíli’s back, counting the bumps in his spine. “I love you, and I promise that it will be okay. Kíli will be alright.”

 _Wait. Oh. Oh, that slipped_. Bofur panicked, his eyes widening and he tried to pretend that what he said was nothing different. “We have Òin, he knows more about wounds that anyone, and I’m sure it’ll play out well. Kíli’s resting, it shouldn’t be too hard getting the weapons tonight if we’re all careful.”

Bofur pulled Fíli away from him and kissed his forehead before leaning his own against it. “Soon enough, you’ll have me weeping if you keep that up,” Bofur whispered and Fíli huffed out a laugh. “That’s better. Now, go rest before I have to make you, too.”

Bringing his forehead away, Fíli flashed him half a smile but it was enough. It was more than enough, and Bofur felt twice as better than before, stepping out behind the curtain. 

\-------

Fíli had known Thorin all his life, since as far back as he can remember, and once he was old enough to understand the lost home of his people and what a king meant, Fíli had never forgotten. Thorin was his king first and his uncle second, and it was a hard lesson to learn, especially after his ‘adad died. Even so, it was easy to forget at times that Thorin was indeed a king but an exiled king, despite his regal countenance and important bearing, and so far along the quest, Fíli had forgot and Thorin was just his leader and his uncle. 

After getting caught by the Laketown guards and brought before the Master (an instantly suspicious character), Fíli was all at once reminded. Thorin’s voice rang out across the gathering of people solidly, speaking loud and true, and despite his too-big clothes, the tallness of the Men, he looked every bit a king should. He countered Bard’s arguments, and the Master deflected his claims that the treasure hoard had a curse with Bard’s ancestor, Girion, having missed Smaug three too many times. It was a shock among all that Bard was indeed more than the bargeman he claimed, and the rightful king of Dale, the lost city of Men in the East. 

Then it hit Fíli like a gale. In the shadow of the Lonely Mountain, coveting enormous wealth, all the tales, all the stories, it all came back to him during Thorin’s inspiring speech that had everyone at the gathering cheering. It was coming full-circle at last. _At last_. He was here next to his uncle after so many years of watching him yearn and work to provide, and sharing in the glory of his people and what they would gain, not only for themselves, but for the people of the Lake, too, and a rebuilt Dale. Bard was doubtful, but it all seemed so attainable, so tangible, that not many paid the bargeman heed. It would be wondrous, what they could accomplish—would accomplish. 

Finally, he and Kíli together would see the home of their people, and looking at his brother next to him, he thought they same. They would be the princes they were raised to be at last, and everything would be right. 

_At last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul -  
>  _'adad_ \- (the) father
> 
> My headcanon Bombur's get of kids - Bomfir is the oldest, then Brina, Bòma (Bombur and Bofur's mother), Bofir and Bofnir (twins), and Brikur (after their 'adad), so 4 boys and 2 girls total. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for leaving kudos and comments on last chapter! I feel so flattered, I'm swimming in it all. And now, I've reached 30 chapters! Holy wow, you guys don't believe how big of an accomplishment that is for me. The most I've ever posted of a fanficiton is like 28/29 chapters, and I gave that one up, haha. So, with a huge thanks to everyone who is so nice and so kind, I give you all the biggest hugs! Thank you so much! :D


	31. Hazelton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazelton - Justin Vernon  
> \--  
> First day in Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding one more day to Laketown because there just wasn't enough time for the little things I wanted to add. Thank you for reading and leaving all your great comments and kudos, as always! :D

The Master of Laketown, rotund and slicked with brandy-sweat, feasted his guests of honor with all manner of food and drink. Thorin sat next to him on the dais and had the grace to look thankful for the Master’s exaggerated toast that more or less only put on airs, and everyone knew it. Alfrid, his weasel of a henchman, sat on his right and clapped more than enthusiastically than most. 

There were some of Laketown’s few nobles sitting among the company of dwarves, making idle chat while the music played in the background. Much to the surprise of the city, the Master allowed the townsfolk to filter in and dance and celebrate at the Mountain King’s return in his halls. There was meat pies, hams, stews of vegetables, breads and wine traded from the Mirkwood elves to flow into everyone’s cups. The company all ate their fill. 

By all means, there was cause to celebrate, and a handful of the company did so. They finished eating and went to go join the menfolk in their dances and their songs, but Fíli did not. Kíli hardly ate a bite from his plate, nearly falling asleep into his tankard even in this rowdiness and it worried him. He didn’t have the heart to celebrate, not when the grey tones replaced any of his usual warmth on his brother’s face. He looked sickly, even though he was only wounded earlier today. And Bofur, bless his heart, sat by him and didn’t join in the merriment for fear of Kíli also, but Fíli suspected he was there to support him. He didn’t need it, but it was comforting, nonetheless. He had really missed him. 

Òin was too drunk to properly check Kíli’s wounds and to apply another poultice, so Fíli went to ask Bilbo if there were any herbs he might use to do so himself. He rattled off a number of plants that may help, and all of them Fíli didn’t know or where to find them. Seeing his sigh of resignation, Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder and told him he would ask the attending servants if they had anything in store. Fíli nodded and said a polite thank you and gave the hobbit a grateful smile before he went to go sit in his too-tall chair. 

Bofur had found a Man’s pipe somewhere and he was smoking it when Fíli returned. He had kept an eye on the younger prince, making sure he didn’t fall asleep into his mash of potatoes. He moved the plate and lent his hat for him to rest his head on. Fíli noticed this and put his hand on Bofur’s knee in thanks, taking the offered pipe and smoking it until it was finished, watching the members of the company dance like true dwarfish drunkards, much to the delight of the men and women they spun around. 

Bilbo returned shortly later with a wad of gauze and a purple and green plant he said was called thistle. Fíli helped him to lift Kíli’s leg enough to remove the old bandages while he still slept, mumbling. But when Bilbo started to clean off the poultice with the wine cup that had been neglected, he hissed awake. He could barely keep his leg still while Bilbo applied the torn up thistle soaked in the wine, and once he was finished Kíli was exhausted from the pain and just about fell asleep in Fíli’s arms. Thorin appeared and helped Fíli lift Kíli up the stairs, each of his arms about his shoulders, and he protested the whole way, Bofur following them up the stairs to the rooms the Master was lending them.

“No, I think I will sleep out here. Not with you and Bofur in there,” Kíli said, his speech slurred with sleep, pushing Thorin’s arm off. 

“Kíli,” Fíli said with a sigh. “We’re not going to do anything,” he replied, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

“It’s _fine_ , I’ve told you. There’s easier access to the privy, anyway,” Kíli said indignantly and sat on the day sofa in the hallway, strewn with stained blankets and lumpy pillows, but it was comfortable enough. 

Thorin put a hand on Fíli’s shoulder to assure him. “Let him be. You’ll be right across the hall, and I’ll be next door,” he said, offering a gentle smile behind his beard. “Kíli, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Yes, uncle,” Kíli muttered, pulling the blankets Bofur laid on top of him up to his chin, scrunching his face in pain when he moved. 

Thorin bowed his head and met Fíli’s eyes before turning to go back down the stairs to the parlor, which led to the halls where the celebrations still continued. He met Bilbo on the stairs and they whispered to each other closely before Thorin descended and Bilbo disappeared into the room next to the one Fíli and Bofur had claimed, which was Thorin’s room. Bofur was the only one who noticed this, however, and forgot to mention it when Fíli bowed his head to rest his forehead on Kíli’s before retreating into their room. Bofur wrung his hands together, watching Fíli light a few candles through the doorway, feeling like he should also do something. 

“You, too,” Kíli said and managed a small smile. Bofur took his hat off before resting his forehead against his, his fingers brushing the clammy skin of his jaw before pulling away.

“We’ll be right here, alright?” Bofur said, gesturing to the door. 

“Aye,” Kíli grumbled and swore when he adjusted. Bofur twisted his hat in his hands with worry before going into the room and shutting the door behind him. 

He found Fíli pulling a comb through his hair and grunting as it snagged in the abundant snarls. Normally, it was very rude to use someone else’s comb, and slightly revolting as it wasn’t your own, but seeing how slimy and hoarding of his goods the Master was, neither figured it was harmful. Fíli had washed the comb thoroughly in the basin before using it, anyway. 

“Here. Let me,” Bofur said, putting his hat on the chest at the foot of the bed, banded with golden swirls, and reached for the comb. Fíli handed it to him and Bofur pulled himself up onto the bed to sit on the edge, Fíli standing between his knees so his head just reached his chest, and it was a perfect height. 

Bofur worked the comb through the ends of his hair first, worrying out the tangles before moving onto the rest of his head. The stress in his shoulders visibly eased the longer he tended his hair, and he even shivered once when Bofur made a long pull in his smooth hair. He smiled and relaxed also, finding a measure of comfort in such intimacies. Once he was finished, they switched places and Fíli eased the comb through his hair. There was nothing better in that moment than having his hair tended by the one dwarf he loved more than anything. Then, remembering what he had said earlier, he hoped Fíli had not heard him since saying such things at Bard’s was no place to reveal those deeper feelings. He wanted a better situation, but since he had already said it, he tried not to fret over it. 

Fíli kissed the back of Bofur’s head when he was done, and he took the comb to put it onto the nightstand, next to a strange clock contraption that had a curious depiction of a woodpecker. There were many such oddities around the room, paintings on the wall of dancing bears and fish, furs and rugs on the floor, taxidermied animals hanging on the walls. It was odd, to say the least, of the things the Master collected and kept to himself. 

They stripped down to their undertunics and crawled into the bed meant for two small Men, but it was big enough for the both of them. The blankets smelled of dust and mildew, but it was comfortable for having slept on thin pallets for weeks. They held onto each other tight, saying without words how long they had both yearned for this closeness. Sleep came easy. 

Bofur woke in the middle of the night to Fíli quietly crying. He tried hiding it in the pillows and wiping at his face but Bofur was not so easily fooled. He kissed his forehead and hair and held him close while he gently sobbed away the nightmare Bofur couldn’t fathom. Soon he was asleep and Bofur followed too. 

It was early morning when he woke next, cold silvery light streaming through the paned glass windows, making the ridiculous baubles in the room stranger. Bofur moved to get dressed and search for breakfast but before he could hop off the bed, Fíli snatched the back of his tunic. 

“Lay with me a little longer. Please,” his voice was small when he spoke, still buried in the mildewy covers, but he was too beautiful to deny, and Bofur had missed him so much. He obliged, lying beneath the blankets again and he kissed Fíli soundly before rolling him into his arms once more, Fíli melting into his warm body and releasing a contented sigh. He remembered the lingering sadness in his face the night before, expertly hidden when his attention was called, but Bofur knew him too well to see it disappear entirely. He looked so weary. Just holding him in his arms, Bofur so desperately wanted to protect him from all that; keep him safe and warm and loved. He was still young yet he had seen horrors beyond count and endured, but now Bofur could see the toll it cost. And Kíli being wounded… Bofur wanted to give him some last respite before he had to face the difficult day again. He would support him until the end, and that he swore. 

They fell asleep once more and did not wake until late morning. Fíli got dressed and put his hair into order quickly before Bofur could even pull on his trousers. He left before Bofur’s tunic was on, to go find Kíli and see if he was alright, Bofur presumed. 

Downstairs in the dining hall, breakfast was still set out for the dwarrows, so Bofur ate with Bombur, who had started eating since it was put out; Òin, who was very hungover and nursing a headache, Dori, Ori, Nori and Dwalin. It was Durin’s Day tomorrow and they would set out at first light to head across the lake toward the Mountain. Fíli was across the hall discussing matters with Thorin, Balin, the Master and Alfrid, interrupting or supporting the Master with whatever he said. Just watching the two Men made Bofur a little resentful, for they were ignorant of their town’s obvious plight while they lived lavishly. Only the worst sort of people did that, and he knew that firsthand. 

Bofur ventured into Laketown with Nori, Dwalin and Ori, by Thorin’s leave. The Men they past stared at them wide eyed, pointing and gossiping, and some even came up to speak to them. They avoided Dwalin when he growled at them or gave them looks of promised pain, and only did he relax when Ori put his elbow through his, leaning up and whispering into his ear. Nori absorbed all the attention with barely-contained smug, strutting proudly and winking at unsuspecting women (they had to be, they had no beards!), at least until he noticed Ori and Dwalin’s closeness. His mood grew a little sour then, giving Dwalin challenging looks that the guard didn’t fail to notice but ignored, and Bofur punched his arm more than once. He himself paid more attention to the children, as did Ori, with their wide pale and dirty faces and curious eyes, and the strange dogs that wandered over to sniff their boots. 

More than once, Men rubbed their heads for good luck, and all four of them swatted their hands away indignantly. They were hounded with questions of when they would leave, was the dragon indeed dead or was he alive, how old they were, and all manner of unnecessary questions. By midday the four dwarrows were tired and annoyed of talking and avoiding knuckles and weaving through knees and skirts. The only good thing that came out of it was the offered goods. They were offered things from onions, beets, baskets, hats, gloves, pouches, bread, fish, chum, clams and jars full of strange things. They didn’t accept any of it (except Nori, who quietly slipped some walnuts into his coat behind Dwalin’s back), but one vendor offered to give them a few pouches of pipeweed and a pipe (used, albeit), and these Bofur did accept, in trade for a story. Dwalin gave him unsavory looks and rolled his eyes so he made Dwalin the hero of the story to irritate him, and for a good laugh that had Nori sniggering. Ori patted Dwalin’s arm as he mumbled and the scribe smiled wistfully in assurance. 

As soon as the story was finished, Bofur rushing the ending to get out of the cramped stall, they left the congregation of Men along the docks as quickly as they could, pushing through all those tall bodies and spindly legs. Bofur was slapped on the back more times than he could count and his hat almost fell off his head more than once at the insistent rubbing. Their sense of direction always well-honed, they made it back to the Master’s house in one piece, but each of them was in a dimmer mood than before, even sweet Ori.   
When asked about their venture, the others burst out laughing, especially at the head rubbing. Bofur told the whole story in annoyed, exaggerated detail, and even squeezed a smile out of Kíli, who was sprawled in a chair with his leg stretched over Fíli’s knees. The eldest prince watched him explain, something in his chest stirring in gladness.

Throughout supper, Bofur felt his neck prickle and he looked up to find Fíli down the table watching him every now and then. Something in his face looked yearning, perhaps anticipation… regardless, it made Bofur smile and blush a little. Only Fíli had ever given him looks like that, almost like he could see through his clothes to the nakedness beneath. Then Bofur was lost in remembering the delightful dream he had in Mirkwood, sending shivers down his spine as his body responded to the memories. _Not at supper. Don’t get a hard-on at supper, you dolt._

Afterwards, Bofur sat with Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo and he shared his pipeweed with them in front of a gently crackling fire. Bilbo fixed Kíli some tea and replaced the poultice, all the while Bofur keeping Fíli distracted by bragging about his smoke tricks. Fíli blew thicker rings but they were small, where Bofur’s were wider and lasted longer. They compared the shapes they could come up with, laughing quietly when they didn’t turn out well, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip in the large, man-sized chair they squeezed into. They tapped their feet together on the footstool, humming and singing to a tavern jig they both knew well, and for the first time in days, Fíli’s eyes sparkled. Bofur felt like he could have knotted Smaug’s neck in one go to end the beast, just at seeing him smile like that. 

Soon, however, Kíli called his attention again when he needed help up the stairs to get to his bed on the day sofa. He tried going up himself before anyone knew, only to slip down the few steps noisily, bruising his knees and swallowing his pained screams. Fíli rushed to help him and Bofur made to follow but Dwalin was closer and he reached him first. They brought Kíli up the stairs same as the night before, and Fíli and Dwalin came back down to the main hall a few minutes later. Fíli sat with Bofur again in the chair and they smoked a little more, but with less mirth. 

Bofur watched as Fíli yawned, chuckling fondly and tapping out the pipe once it was finished. “Come, my lion, I think it’s time for bed,” he said warmly as he slid off the chair, offering a hand to Fíli who shyly took it with a flattered smile. He slipped off the chair to stand next to Bofur on the floor and they made their way upstairs.


	32. The Darkest Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkest Side - The Middle East
> 
>  _And its the darkest side of my heart that dies when you come to me  
>  And its the ticket I win when you kill my enemies _  
> \--  
> Long chapter of feely-smut. My teeth are rotting but I'm happy about it.

They did the same routine as the night before, combing each other’s hair, weaving their fingers through the loosened strands. Fíli sat on the bed, Bofur between his knees, and his dark brown hair fell in heavy sheets around his shoulders. “You have the most beautiful hair,” Fíli whispered reverently, finding shining threads of lighter browns and darker blacks, and a few times a silver strand. He moved the curtain of his hair aside and pressed his lips to Bofur’s warm neck, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and sighing contentedly. Bofur raised his hands to hold onto his arms and he closed his eyes, allowing himself a small smile. 

After a few long minutes of comfortable silence, Fíli removed his arms and took off his thick over tunic and socks before crawling under the covers. Bofur did the same on the floor and joined him, forming himself along Fíli’s back, circling his arms around his waist. He softly kissed his shoulder a few times before settling in for sleep. 

Fíli dreaded sleeping. He slept uneasily the night before, his Longing dreams relentlessly playing in his mind even as he was next to Bofur. But then he had held him so tenderly without question, carefully quieting him until he was finally able to shut his eyes peacefully. Bofur did not know what Fíli dreamed, only saw his wet tears and knew he had nightmares. Devotedly he held him, and it still churned Fíli’s heart for the kindness he always showed, even in weariness. Gently gripping the sheets, Fíli wordlessly muttered a plea to keep him dreamless, just this night. 

He turned in Bofur’s arms to face him, knowing he was not yet asleep for the snoring hadn’t started, but he looked relaxed nonetheless. Fíli smiled adoringly and brushed a finger down the length of his nose, laughing a little when Bofur blinked his eyes open. He smiled, inches away from his face, and his dark eyes wandered his face in the hazy night of their room. He watched Fíli’s thoughts change and morph behind the blue depths, concern and inquiry making his face slack and his eyes worrisome. Fíli knew he wanted to ask something, whatever it was, so he waited, curling his fingers in his long mustache. 

“Have you been all right?” Bofur asked, his voice quiet like he was telling a secret. 

Fíli swallowed, a tightness forming in his throat like an iron girdle. “I’m trying to be,” he said dryly, biting his lip. “Just… Kíli, you know. And Durin’s Day tomorrow… there’s a lot on my mind recently.”

Bofur nodded, looking a little more reassured, and Fíli was glad for it. His lips quirked into a gentle smile that made his eyes sleepily half-lidded. “I know. You know I can listen as well as I can talk.”

Fíli snorted quietly. “Can you? That’s news to me.”

Bofur lazily kneed his thigh beneath the blankets. “I mean it, you twit.”

“I know. Thank you,” Fíli threw an arm over Bofur’s side and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Then he laughed at a recalled memory, making the other dwarf raise his brows. “Do you remember when we were still travelling in Mirkwood, you dragged me behind a tree and nearly demanded to put your mouth on me?”

Bofur guffawed and buried his face into Fíli’s chest, laughing. “Aye, and you made a right mess of my face, too.”

It was Fíli’s turn to hide his blush, burying it in the pillows. “I’m sorry! I just forgot to warn you. It was really good for your first blow.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, your words flow like a romance ballad. Care to recite that the next time Ori begs for a story?” they chuckled until their sides hurt, curled in each other’s arms. “A drop got right under my nose just as I was breathing in, y’know. I smelled you for days afterward.”

Fíli fell into another bout of hysterical giggles. “It was hilarious, you have to admit.”

“Aye, it was. And I didn’t mind so much after you cleaned it up with that clever mouth of yours,” Bofur replied, working his legs between Fíli’s and pulling him closer by his hold on his waist. “No, I don’t think I minded so much.”

Fíli slowed down his laughing, twirling the ends of Bofur’s soft hair between his fingers. “Would you… do it again?” he asked hesitantly, his eyes jumping from wrinkle to crease in his joyful face. 

“What, the getting you off bit, or you coming on my face?” Bofur asked, his words masked with giggles. 

“Both, I would think.”

Bofur thought about it for a moment, looking up at the ceiling before answering. “Yes, I think I would.”

Fíli blushed a deep pink and his timid smile returned. “I rather liked that, as sudden and unexpected as it was.”

Bofur tugged playfully on Fíli’s mustache before kissing the corner of his mouth and curling into his chest. “You salacious prince, you,” he said, his voice deep in his throat, and Fíli felt his smile against his tunic before he exhaled and fell quiet. Fíli’s eyes fluttered closed in content and he relaxed, finding rhythm in Bofur’s soft breathing. 

Before he could fall asleep completely, Fíli tilted his head and kissed the top of Bofur’s hair, letting his mouth linger before he moved his body downwards to kiss his temple, then his brow, his cheek. Bofur’s eyes opened into slits and he didn’t move, his fingers splaying on the blond’s ribcage. Fíli’s head spun and his blood pumped in his ears in nervous anticipation. Before he grew too scared to speak, he sighed and placed his hand on Bofur’s cheek and looked into his face.

“The other day, you said you loved me. You pretended like you didn’t but I heard you,” Bofur’s eyes grew slightly wider and Fíli swallowed, gathering up his words again before they drifted away. “I love you, too, Bofur. I love you,” he whispered, his fingers tentatively making circles in his stubble. 

Bofur had stared at him in astonishment until now, his eyes wide and sparkling like he had hung the moon and stars. He was in utter disbelief and the realization made Fíli smile, and at the sight Bofur grinned in return. He took Fíli’s face in his hands and pulled him forward for a long kiss. 

Fíli rolled Bofur onto his back and his mouth opened up beneath his, allowing exploration and Fíli took the chance. He kissed him deep and passionately, pouring all his heart into it. Bofur’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hands buried in his thick hair, pressing his chest upwards to accept him fully, and in return, gave himself also. Fíli’s hands slipped up his tunic and sensuously re-explored the muscles and planes of his abdomen, dropping his mouth to his neck. Bofur moved into his hands with a quiet whimper, moving his legs aside so they could fit together closer. 

“Fíli,” Bofur breathed, his hands working on the fabric of Fíli’s tunic to pull it upwards. “make love to me, please. Oh, I want you,” he almost pleaded, his voice rough with desire, and when he raised his head from his neck, Fíli had never seen such a look of desperation written on his face. “I love you, Fíli, oh I love you so much.”

 _This is real, isn’t it?_ Fíli thought. Looking at Bofur now, he could see how long he had waited for this, so patiently for his confession, and how badly he yearned for him. Fíli felt like an utter fool for waiting because of course he loved him, he had for awhile, and he just didn’t realize Bofur had loved him in return for twice that time. He could have cried over how perfect and beautiful Bofur looked now, but he had sunk his mouth to his again so he did not have the effort. 

He took his tunic off over Bofur’s head and moved away to toss off his own, then fell to lie against the solid form of the miner’s body. He worried his fingers through the laces of his trousers while his mouth planted soft kisses across his chest, through the fine hairs down his stomach, and Bofur sighed. He twined his fingers in Fíli’s hair and chuckled quietly, making Fíli dart his eyes upwards. 

“I had a dream I was doing this to you instead. It was morning, somewhere, and I woke you up with my mouth around you. Funny, that,” Bofur said, his eyes black in the darkness of their room, but Fíli felt his piercing look and what it held, shooting right down between his thighs. Fíli smiled and worked his trousers off, Bofur lifting his hips off the bed so they could slide off from the roundness of his arse with ease. Fíli let his palms linger there, cupping his bottom in full, then let them slide down his strong thighs with his pants. Bofur was blushing heavily by the time his trousers were on the floor. 

“It sounds lovely,” Fíli said huskily, “we could have a million mornings like that. We would never be late for our duties for oversleeping.”

Bofur laughed, swallowing up Fíli’s wandering eyes, lying back on the pillows with a crooked grin. “I don’t think I could ever leave the bed if every morning was like that, I’d be too busy making you moan to care for much else.”

“Still, I like the idea. Waking up to your face would be enough,” he smiled before dropping his head again to his chest, lapping his tongue around a pert nipple playfully before making a trail downward. 

“Aye. You’re beautiful in the morning,” Bofur whispered, swallowing deep, feeling a fire stir hotter in his groin at watching Fíli move his mouth to his ribs. 

He laid soft kisses across the sensitive skin of his hips, making Bofur shudder bodily. He grinned when he moved lower, pressing his whiskered cheek against the inside of his thigh, his beard ticklish. Fíli kissed down his thigh while moving his other leg to allow for more room, reaching the juncture of his legs right to his stones. They were heavy in his hands, jostling them gently while his tongue rubbed at them. He held Bofur’s aching erection in his other hand and worked it lengthwise, twisting just so in his loose fist. Moving lower, as Bofur’s breath came in hitched gasps, he licked over his perineum and finally down to his tight center. He worked his tongue in teasing circles and Bofur moaned low, the noise deep in his chest and his hips did an involuntary swivel that opened himself further for Fíli’s access. 

He slipped his tongue inside while he pulled now more insistently on Bofur’s length. The older dwarf groaned and muttered endearments in khuzdûl that had Fíli’s heart swimming and his arousal deepening at the same time. “My _ghivashel_ , Fíli, _men kurdel_ …,” 

Lifting his head, Fíli slicked his finger in his mouth and probed Bofur’s entrance, smiling when the miner’s eyes slipped open slightly. Keeping his eyes locked, Fíli took Bofur into his mouth, rubbing delicious circles with his finger and swirling his tongue around his leaking slit. Bofur whined and threw his head back into the pillows, his brows furrowed and his mouth agape as a long moan escaped his throat. 

With his hair loose, his beard growing thicker, and his lovely voice, it was a wonder to Fíli he hadn’t had to fight off the other dwarrows for his favor. Without the proper bindings to keep his hair tied back in his usual braids, he was wearing his hair loose most every day, and it was a different thing entirely. He was enthralling and beautiful, and if any of them saw him like this, they were sure to swoon. He wouldn’t let them, however, because Bofur was his and he wasn’t inclined to share. Fíli felt rather possessive of him, truthfully, and with a growing need to make him sing, he put another finger inside him and got the wanted result. Bofur clenched his jaw and gripped the sheets, tossing his head to the side. 

Removing his mouth from him, Fíli leaned over to reach the near-empty blue bottle Bofur had placed on the nightstand the night before to make it more comfortable for him. How he had managed to keep it from the prying fingers of the elves, Fíli would never know, but he was never more grateful. If he hadn’t kept it, he would have to make a very unwanted trip down to the kitchens for less-useful oil with his throbbing arousal, and that was not a prospect Fíli wanted to endeavor. With his fingers and mouth completely removed from him, Bofur felt rather hot and needy, aching and neglected. But when he saw that Fíli had started to dribble the lightly scented oil on his fingers he watched in anticipation, his chest heaving in heavy pants. With a wicked smile, he leaned forward and took Bofur’s mouth, slipping his two fingers in effortlessly past the relaxed ring of muscle. 

Bofur moaned into Fíli’s mouth and jerked his hips upward, gripping at Fíli’s shoulders and his sides for purchase. Fíli nipped his lips and licked the bite away, Bofur mumbling, “I love you” against his lips. It only took a little searching to find that special spot, but he knew he found it when Bofur was in the middle of responding in kind to burst into a strangled groan, arching upwards. 

“I-I won’t be able to last if you keep that up, love,” Bofur said hurriedly, his fists gripping the sheets and pulling, writhing beneath Fíli’s heavy weight. 

Chuckling as he sat up, Fíli put his weight on his knees and observed his handiwork; the mussed sheets, the tousled hair, the tinge of color to his cheeks and his heavy breaths. He was lovely, Fíli could say that a hundred times over and never think twice. 

He started unlacing his trousers with a shy grin, his head tilted at an angle that stole Bofur’s shortened breath away. How was he so lucky? He gazed up at his lion prince and wondered what he had done to earn his love. He was tender and careful yet so cocksure in his youth, his rough hands knowing the parts of his body that made him turn to butter, knowing what only looking at him did. He knew he was undone when Fíli’s erection jostled loose from his trousers, and the glint in his eyes told him that Fíli knew. He crawled catlike along the length of his body to take his mouth chastely, far from the wild kisses they had shared. Bofur pushed Fíli’s trousers halfway down his thighs persistently, tasting the inside of his cheek in slow strokes and the back of his teeth. 

Fíli divested himself of his trousers and tossed them off the bed, reaching for a pillow to wrangle beneath Bofur’s arse, and when his hips were raised, he took the opportunity once more to slide his hands over his firm bottom, growling deep in his throat. “I love your sweet arse, Bofur, d’you know that?” Fíli mumbled, pressing their hips together with their erections between their bodies. 

Bofur bit his lip and nodded, swallowing a moan. “Aye, now I do.” He pressed his thighs against Fíli’s sides eagerly. 

The golden-haired prince moved in a way that had them both groaning, sliding their warm flesh together deliciously. Bofur moved his head to the side to allow the prince to lave his tongue behind his ear, swiveling his hips in tandem. 

The first few times he tried to speak were only half-formed, punctuated with sighs and or high-pitched gasps. Finally, when he was able to catch the words before he forgot them, he said, “I need more of you, love. All of you.”

Fíli swallowed, and something like a surge of panic came unbidden. _He asks for all of me, heart and body_. Then the feeling left as fleeting as it came, and Fíli smiled. _I have already given both, and received the same gifts_. 

He cupped one side of his face in his hand and looked upon him like the old tales would sing of. Bofur’s heart lurched at the affection in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips. “I am already yours,” he replied reverently, then sweet as maiden, kissed him. 

He swirled oil on Bofur before himself, lining the head of his erection with an unsteady hand. He had never been inside him before, but by the way _he_ felt when Bofur moved in him, he hoped he could be good enough. Bofur smiled at him like he knew, his fingers tentatively brushing his jaw covered in golden stubble. 

Fíli couldn’t resist his eyes fluttering closed at the tight molten heat that surrounded him, hardly inside yet. After a pause, he opened his eyes to see Bofur’s mouth parted and his eyes burning, saying in their depths _go further_. Fíli pushed in and moaned as the exquisite sensations flitted through his body like one great shudder. Bofur’s head fell back into the pillows and he muttered a string of khuzdûl, too garbled to mean anything. 

He pulled halfway out and heaved back in, trying to find a foothold for he could already feel his arousal heightening tenfold and he didn’t want to spend himself so early. He circled his hips in an attempt to find that certain spot, sighing in the space between them. Bofur pawed at his back, his breath growing heavier into Fíli’s ear, his hands slipping up his shoulders to weave into his hair and he pushed him down to kiss him ardently. 

Their lips slid against each other and their mustaches might have tangled, but it didn’t matter. It was as if they possessed one mind, one body, burning with pleasure and desire and the deepest feeling. It wasn’t like anything else in existence, meeting another with flesh of like flesh, bones of like bones; the connection so prevailing it was utterly consuming. If this was what it meant to find a One, Fíli knew Bofur was it, picked by his own accord. His passion rattled through his bones like a distant thundercloud, all for this dwarf who was more perfect than any dwarf chosen by his Maker who loved him in return, and it was nothing sort of sublime. They knew all the parts of each other that lit fires, ignited sparks, induced sounds and languorous movement. Every touch, every word, meant so much more. It all fell into place at last. 

Bofur keened, feeling his heart break a thousand times over, repaired again and again, pulling at the seams. He was so ridiculously in love and he finally saw it in Fíli’s face, too, backed with confirmation. “I love you, I love you,” rang in his ears in heady whispers, Fíli thrusting into him sensuously and deeply. It was all so perfect, surreal, and he was glad Fíli didn’t say anything when his eyes watered. 

“I love you, too, my sweet heart,” Bofur whispered in return into Fíli’s warm neck, holding him closer as his body moved against his. He could feel his blood course in his neck, his sweat, his chest hair, the soft hairs on his thighs, his nose as he nuzzled it into his shoulder, the hot breath on his skin. He felt it all, but none so much as his cock sliding in his deepest parts, slick and smooth and pegging his spot with each heave. “Ohh, Fíli. Harder, just— _yess_ ,” he hissed, dwindling into a high-pitched moan that sounded rather unlike him. Fíli obliged, hoping he could get that noise out of him again, and he did, much to his delight. 

“You sound so lovely, Bofur, and you feel… _ohh_ ,” Fíli whined, clutching the sheets in tight fists, using his knees in the bed for more leverage. He bent his head and saw Bofur’s cock leaking onto his stomach, red and hot and dejected. Fíli grinned and Bofur saw it (how could he not? It lit his face like the sun), grasping his erection and slicking it with his seed to pump it relentlessly. Bofur tossed his head back and arched, his fingers digging into Fíli’s shoulder accompanied with a crying shout. Fíli didn’t even bother to hush him. The sounds he made reminded him of some of the seedier taverns he visited back in the Ered Luin, a few renowned for their service women and men. He practically sang. Fíli laughed a little then, knowing just why Bofur teased him. 

The miner opened his bleary eyes, seeing his lover laugh above him. “What is it?” he asked breathily, his smile contagious. He whimpered a bit when Fíli twisted his fingers around the head of him, prompting more fluids to seep. 

“You sing like a virgin maid, love. You’re going to make me fall in love with you with a voice like yours,” Fíli said lightly. Bofur barked out a laugh, airy for he was out of breath. 

“I can sing The Golden River for you, if y’like,” Bofur replied, bucking upwards, and Fíli bit back a groan through his laugh. 

“A song for my hair? How sweet,” Fíli japed, knowing the old song was about a maid with gold hair that flowed like water for a furlong, enchanting dwarrows and Men alike.  
Bofur grinned and pulled Fíli down for a kiss littered with smaller kisses, smiling the whole way through. Once the tips of their toes started going numb and their cocks throbbed, Bofur’s cries grew more strangled, Fíli’s moans higher and his thrust more erratic. All at once they were greeted with bright popping lights as their pleasure swallowed them in tandem. They came together in high-pitched cries that shook their bodies, immobilized while the waves rippled through them like warm sunlight.

Dreamily, Fíli cracked his eyes open and watched Bofur’s face relax from the same deliciously numbing sensations slowly leaving his body. He smiled, finding his lover absolutely charming. He leaned over him for a lazy kiss, too wonderfully satisfied to worry about the seed on both their stomachs, enraptured in this one moment out of a thousand moments. Nothing else mattered. 

“You have stolen my heart, Fíli son of Dìs,” Bofur muttered against his bearded lips, eyes half-lidded. Fíli’s face hurt from so much smiling, but he did so anyway.

“And you, Bofur son of—wait, what was your ‘adad’s name? I’m sorry, I never caught it,” Fíli asked, suddenly rather serious and apologetic which made Bofur chuckle. 

“It’s alright, kurdel. He was called Brikur, a miner by trade, carver by hobby. I learned almost everything from him,” he explained calmly, his eyes flittering over his lovely lips and sweet dimples, his finger swirling in the damp skin between his shoulder blades.

Fíli asked him question after question about him, about his ‘amad, Bòma, and the he life had while Bofur cleaned them up with a wet cloth. Fíli knew snippets from past conversations but Bofur told him everything, all the good and the bad, and he listened intently. Fíli massaged his bad leg for him while he talked for it had cramped up when he had it folded over Fíli’s back, sometimes his hands moving in half-formed Iglishmêk insults his father had taught him behind his ‘amad’s back. 

Somewhere, the conversation changed and Fíli was talking about his weapon training with Kíli and Dwalin, giving Bofur some tips on using axes and his mattock that he had lost. Images of Fíli sparring in the bright sun came into Bofur’s mind; his rippling muscles dripping sweat, his movements as strong and solid as his footwork, that over-confident grin on his face. It was enough for Bofur to suddenly roll Fíli onto his back with his own cocksure grin, straddling him. Fíli looked up at him in surprise and then immediately downward to his stirring erection, wondering when he had gotten so aroused, but then Bofur was leaning down and whispering huskily into his ear. 

“I’m going to ride you like the ponies you trained on,” and then his half-hard cock was slicked and he was inside Bofur without preamble. His mouth opened in a noise of surprise, hands flying to Bofur’s hips. “Shall I start with a trot?” his grin was wicked and shameless and Fíli loved it.

“A canter,” he suggested, biting his lip. 

“Like this?” Bofur started moving his hips in ways Fíli didn’t know he could, putting his hands on his broad chest for support. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders and a low moan stuttered from Fíli’s chest. “Perhaps faster, milord?” Bofur spoke in a voice dripping innocence. 

_Oh, Valar, he is going to undo me talking like that_. Fíli nearly growled with the pure arousal that flared in him suddenly. He gripped his hips a little tighter, his mouth curling into a devilish smirk. He bucked into Bofur’s arse as he fell back on him, watching him watch back. Fíli moaned, running his hands up to his broad chest, running his fingers through the coating of dark hair. 

“Full speed,” Fíli nearly commanded, and Bofur did so. 

After much rewarding and yet strenuous movement, Bofur reached his climax with a shuddering cry, striping Fíli’s stomach in white ribbons. Using the same cloth as before, he quickly cleaned him up before sitting back and beckoning Fíli forward with a sly grin. He laid back and Fíli knelt over him with blushing cheeks, tugging his cock in a loose fist to urge his climax. He came and the gasps strangled from him as his seed dribbled onto Bofur’s cheeks, most of it falling into his mouth, but just the sight of him was so wanton and obscene, he saw nothing but white when he closed his eyes in his quaking pleasure. 

When he finally opened his eyes, Bofur was licking his lips with a sparkling glint in his eyes, and he gave Fíli a wink before the blond swooped down to clean his cheeks and then claim his mouth. Bofur hummed The Golden River as they lied down at last beneath the covers, Fíli’s front to his back, his burly arms wrapped around his middle and his face nuzzling his neck, muttering endearments before they fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul -  
> ghivashel - treasure  
> men kurdel - my heart (of all hearts). I couldn't figure out if _men_ went before or after the subject, so. I tried. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone! I appreciate all the comments and kudos you guys left on the last chapter! Let me know what you think because sometimes I worry if my writing is too complicated or long or what have you, so give me a heads up and I'll tone it down, haha. I love all your feedback, regardless! Thanks so much! Big hugs to everyone :D


	33. A Maker of My Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Maker of My Time - The Paper Kites  
> \--  
> Fili has too many worries over Kili and Bofur, and then Smaug, and nothing seems to go as it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness! I am so sorry for the long update, dearest readers! I had such a difficult time writing the first draft of this chapter because it just didn't sit right with me and I really didn't like it, and then on top of that I had growing ideas for a new fanfiction, so I really just let this one be for awhile. I have a few more chapters lined up so this story can get going again! :D
> 
> I have much to thank for jokerswild for helping me sort out my ideas! Thank you, dearest! ;)

"And go where? There is nowhere to go."

Bard turned with a grim look on his face, wooden and shaped into a blank hopelessness. It took Fíli by surprise for the few moments Bard allowed himself to blindly sink into despair, his three children standing witness. For even though it was brief, to see their father look so forlorn and implacable after the Mountain rumbled was more than disquieting. Little Tilda’s eyes watered and Sigrid held her breath, Bain clenching his fists; all three watching their father and wondering desperately what will happen. 

After a silence, Tilda asked, “Are we going to die, Da?” her child’s voice wavered, trembling. 

Fíli looked at her then and his breath caught. Still such a young girl, her bright eyes were clouded in fear as only a child’s could in the midst of a terror they did not understand. Indeed, she and her siblings must have heard the countless stories of the wyrm that slumbered in the Dwarf Mountain upon hills of gold, but for the tales to come true… it was not only Tilda who was afraid. Fíli’s heart raced and he felt like he must be shaking in his boots. When the house shook from the quaking, the whole air of the room changed, growing heavier and colder like the very warmth of the fire had been smothered. 

Bard climbed out of his passing gloom at the sound of his daughter’s voice and masked it with a doubtful smile, kneeling in front of his youngest. He grasped her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her thin arms. “No, darlin’,” he said soothingly, brushing a tear away. Then his voice changed to become steadier and more assured. “We’re not going to die, I’ll tell you that I know for certain.”

They all watched the Bowman slowly stand and stride over to the kitchen, stopping beneath the rafter of hanging herbs and he reached up. Grasping, he yanked and a shower of dust and dried buds fell to the floor. He held clutched in his sturdy hand a long black spear. Furrowing his brows, Fíli stepped forward, peering at what he held, and as soon as he saw the twisted point of the spear he recognized it. Having seen drawings of the fabled wind lance and the black arrows all his childhood, Fíli knew what he saw at once. Òin gasped behind him, his old eyes widening in bewilderment. 

“It’s been decades… nigh a century since…,” the old healer muttered, words escaping him at the revelating sight of the last Dwarfish black arrow, clutched in Bard’s tight grip. 

“A-A black arrow!” Bain sputtered and his face bloomed in amazement. He had seen it in books also, Fíli surmised, for such a legendary and long-unseen weapon was easy to mistake. 

Fíli was able to gather his head into the present again when Kíli’s quiet moan caught his attention. He crossed the short distance to his bedside in quick strides and knelt near to his head. “Kíli,” he whispered like he was telling him a secret. “There’s a black arrow. Bard has the last one. Not all of them are gone like Thorin told us.”

Fíli searched his brother’s face, his heart losing the fleeting lightness he had felt moments before. Kíli’s face was deathly pale and covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat, shivering as if the Northern winds swirled in this very room. His dark eyes were far and distant but when Fíli told him about the black arrow, recognition transformed his face and Fíli was glad to see it. He even smiled, if a little shakily, at least until Òin put a warm cloth on his wound. He jolted and hissed. 

Fíli bit his lip and turned once more to Bard and his family. Sigrid was arguing with her father and Bain as they threw cloaks over their shoulders. 

“You can’t take Bain with you, Da!” she pleaded helplessly, tears of her own watering in her face. “Please don’t. Stay, Bain, please! Let Da go!”

“I can’t, Sigrid!” Bain countered. “I have to help him! Who else will distract the guards?” his voice was resolute, squaring his shoulders against his older sister. 

Sigrid opened her mouth to protest but Bard stepped forward and took her face in his hands. “Sig, love, he is right. The Master’s house and the lance is across town, and you know the guard patrols. The dragon is surely to head here and I must kill it first before he burns us all,” he nodded, his gaze steady. “You must gather only what we need in the meantime, it’ll be a while yet. The dragon has grown old and sluggish, and he has a retinue of dwarves against him in the Mountain as we speak,” a small smile tugged as his lips and Sigrid clutched at his arms. “I know you are capable of getting your sister and these dwarves to the shore safely. I will meet you there.”

“Da,” Sigrid sobbed once but nodded, schooling her face and wiping her tears away with her sleeve. “You better meet us there, right next to Ovin’s farm or you’d wish Smaug had swallowed you,” she threatened but Fíli could see her mouth bent in a sad smile that Bard didn’t fail to see and return. He bent to embrace Tilda, whispering words into her ear Fíli couldn’t hear across the room, but he seemed to sufficiently placate his daughter. 

He stood to leave with Bain, holding the long steel arrow, but not before he met Fíli’s eyes across the room. He knew what he held in his unyielding and heavily portent gaze, and he accepted his fate should anything fail. Fíli nodded, quietly promising. Bard seemed to say ‘thank you’ in his face before slipping out the door into the dark night, him and his son melting into shadows. 

Fíli stared after them for a moment, a heavy weight yawning in the pit of his stomach. Where had Bofur gone? Did he hear the tell-tale shuddering, did his bones shake too? He swallowed dryly and it felt like he was gulping his tongue. An uneasiness settled over him that he couldn’t slough of his shoulders. It made itself comfortable across his back as Fíli sank further into anxiousness. Without Bofur here, left behind by his companions, it felt like everything was slipping through his yearning fingers, like he was reaching for wisps of cloud. 

“Master Dwarf?”

Fíli blinked, coming back to his awareness. He turned to the voice and saw that it was Sigrid. “Excuse me, I need to get to the cupboard,” she said, stepping forward, determination writ on her face that frankly reminded Fíli of Bard. 

“Oh… yes, I’m sorry,” he stepped aside, letting Sigrid pass. She knelt and opened the door, pulling out various boxes and pouches of things. 

“Here are some more herbs, dried, but in case you need them,” she said, setting them on the table. “Don’t mind me, I just need to get some things to gather.” Sigrid stood with a few small boxes and pouches in her arms. “Tilda! Get some more water for Master Kíli, would you?” 

“Just a moment!” Tilda shouted back, coming around a screen carrying a few dolls. 

Fíli watched as Sigrid set her load on the center kitchen table, sighing as Tilda carefully put her dolls into a canvas bag. “Tilda… I’m sorry, but you can’t bring all of them,” she said softly, sadly, and Tilda cast her wide eyes upon her. 

“But… Miss Lilac and Olly and…,” Tilda started but her voice fell away when her sister shook her head. 

“I know, Tils. Pick one,” Sigrid said but Fíli didn’t get to see any more interaction as Kíli had clutched his sleeve desperately. 

Fíli spun to face his brother in a sudden spike of worry. He took the cooling cloth from the bowl on the side table and dabbed at his face and forehead. 

“Fíli…,” Kíli sighed, his brows tightly furrowed, his head lolling to the side. He hardly seemed present, like he was somewhere else in his mind, too weak. 

“Kíli, please, stay here. Stay with me. Bofur will be back soon with the kingsfoil and Òin’s going to heal you. Alright?” Fíli said brokenly and tried looking assured to his brother, but he half-heartedly believed himself. What if something happened to Bofur and he never returned? What if he got arrested and Fíli never saw him again? With the dragon surely headed here, Fíli didn’t know the way back to the armory, and Kíli unable to move without shouting in pain, he wouldn’t be able to steal him back from the guards. Smaug would get here before he could ever get to Bofur. 

He bit his lip and fought the burning tears threatening to spill. He couldn’t let Kíli see him cry, not Òin, not Sigrid, not even Tilda. He wouldn’t let him see his fears and his weakness. He took a few breaths to steady himself but the uncomfortable tightness of his fears did not abate. 

Then there was a timid presence next to him, holding a pitcher of water and sniffling. The youngest of Bard’s children held the pitcher out to him, avoiding his eyes and furiously blinking. “I-I brought some wa-water,” she said thickly, and Fíli couldn’t help a sad smile. He took the pitcher from her and set it on the table, then leaned forward to get her attention at her eyelevel form where he sat on the edge of Kíli’s bed. 

“My lady, there is no need for tears,” Fíli said in the most comforting voice he could manage, hoping it was enough. 

Tilda sniffled. “But Bain and Da, Master Kíli, Miss Lilac a-and,” she quietly sobbed then, bowing her head and holding her arms tight at her sides. Fíli felt a tiny crack open a little wider in his heart. 

He knew Sigrid’s eyes were watching him when he reached forward and put his hands on Tilda’s trembling shoulders, but he tried paying her no mind. “I know why you worry, but if you can muster up your courage, your sister needs your help, and your brother and father need you to hope a little longer. I know you can, and Miss Lilac knows, too.” Tilda wiped at her face with the heel of her hand and blinked into his face, her round cheeks splotchy. His hands were a comforting weight as she calmed, nodding sullenly. “I know how brave you are, Miss Tilda,” Fíli said and moved his hands back to his lap. 

“’M no miss,” Tilda muttered and Fíli airily chuckled, a small smile making its way to her face. 

“Ah, a Dwarf owes his respect to such courageous ladies, you see. I can’t help it,” he winked and she smiled a little wider. “I will look after Miss Lilac for you if you’d like, when the time comes,” he whispered and Tilda nodded in relief. “Now, go help your sister before she burns holes in my head. Everything will be all right, my lady Tilda.” 

Tilda nodded, and with one lingering look to Kíli her smile fell a little, but she turned and went back to Sigrid standing in the kitchen. Fíli exhaled and took the pitcher of water from the table to pour a little into a cup. He put it to Kíli’s lips and raised his head to help him drink. 

Òin grumbled from the other side of the bed, running his fingers through his grizzled beard. “That was honorable of you, lad,” he said tiredly but truthfully, catching Fíli’s attention. “Fer takin’ part o' her worries away.”

Fíli nodded in acknowledgement and thanks, then looked down to Kíli slowly sipping the water even as some dribbled down his jaw. Fíli moved his arm out from beneath Kíli’s head to let him lie, putting the cup back on the table. He wrung his hands and tried to banish the aching worry in his stomach and the cinching girdle around his heart that made it harder to breathe. “Aye. Her worries may be gone but mine are not,” he said hollowly, ever curious where Bofur might be. If only he were here...

“What was that, laddie?” Òin asked, leaning forward and turning his ear towards the prince. 

Fíli shook his head and then turned to the sound of the door opening. Bain walked in panting and red faced, looking more than a little frazzled. “Da’s been arrested! The guards took him, I saw them! The-the Master, a-and Alfrid, they were there too!”

Fíli had stood in surprise when he saw it was Bain at the door, and rolled his eyes when he learned of Laketown’s shrewd Master and his craven henchman. But something else of more importance came to him. “The black arrow! What did you do with it, Bain?” Fíli asked beseechingly, hoping that the one weapon that could take down Smaug was not confiscated. 

Bain exhaled and caught his breath, running his hands through his shaggy hair. “I hid it,” Fíli immediately sighed in immense relief. “I know exactly where it’s at. Right in the square in front of the Master’s statue, in a boat under some nets. But Da… how…?”

“They can’t lock him up forever, not when the dragon’s coming,” Sigrid said but she sounded uncertain to Fíli’s ears. She spoke calmly to placate her siblings, and Fíli knew that struggle all too well. She wrung her hands on her apron to keep them occupied, looking for something to do across the table. “There’s some stew still left in the pot; Tilda, Bain, will you dish some out and give it to the dwarves? And eat some yourselves, too, who knows when we’ll have a proper meal next.”

_Ah, and practical, too,_ Fíli thought, then he moved to help the two children. He ate his stew in stoic silence next to Kíli, trying to spoon him some of the gravy to no avail. Òin told stories of Dale back in the best days of the alliance between the city of Men and Erebor. All was prosperous in those days, a long while before Thròr succumbed to the gold sickness, but he carefully avoided that bit. Little Tilda’s eyes were wide at Òin’s exciting words and his exaggerated gestures and details, Bain asked him questions with intrigue and interest, but Sigrid sat quietly and spooned her stew without hardly taking a bite, glancing out the windows. Òin weaved intricate details together to create a tapestry of the glorious years he had himself in his youth, and it lightened the mood of the room, even if a little. Fíli had heard all these tales before but it did him good to listen to laughs and good things, even if Kíli’s breath wheezed past his lips.

Once everyone was finished, Sigrid gathered up their bowls and snuffed out the fire in the hearth. Bain started on organizing the packs to carry and Tilda helped by gathering necessities. Sigrid announced she was taking a step outside for a breath of air and Fíli smoothed the sweat-soaked hair away from Kíli’s clammy forehead. Òin moved to take a look at the festering wound on his leg but Kíli jerked away from his touch so harshly and erratically the healer thought better of it, avoiding Fíli’s eyes. Òin knew, and Fíli knew, and it put a dark dread over him, like a black blood infecting his whole self. 

_I hate this. This was doomed from the start. We have everything to lose, and now I understand just what exactly that means,_ Fíli thought, furrowing his brows, wishing he could close his eyes and all this darkness would slip away. Whether young and ignorant in the Ered Luin or whole and hale in Erebor, it didn’t matter to him, just as long as both Kíli and Bofur were alive and well next to him. _But, no, it is not so easy_. His heart ached. He wanted to tear it out. 

Not a moment later there were strange patterings on the roof, and then a shrill scream from the front of the house. Sigrid ran inside and shut the door on a gauntleted dark arm and a gurgled cry came from outside. The door was shoved open and there stood an orc, brandishing a scimitar and snarling pointed teeth, ready to strike. Òin threw a handful of plates into his face to stave him off, but then there was a mighty creak and a crash and falling wood exposing another orc that had broken through the roof. 

Fíli stood and threw himself against the second orc as Bain and Òin fought off the first, landing a solid shoulder into the orc’s leather-armored stomach. He was thrown into the cupboards and lost a moment in time when his head cracked against the hard wood. He faintly recognized another fall-in near to Kíli, but his brother found the last vestiges of his strength to kick the enemy in the gut and fight off his knives. Fíli pulled himself to stand straight on his feet again, taking a basket and bounding up onto the table to blind the first orc and stop him from getting to Sigrid and Tilda under the table. Bain grabbed a rolling pin and swung it into the basket over the orc’s head to sufficiently put him out of action for the pin had broken. 

Just as this happened, however, another orc appeared through one of the holes in the roof, taking more wood down with him, so Fíli jumped and grabbed Bain by the shoulders to turn him around and protect him from the crashing ceiling. Then the oddest circumstance came to be, for a benign presence appeared at the front door, clad in green and sporting bright auburn hair. When he was briefly able to assess the new situation, after beating an orc with his feet and fists, he recognized the elf captain from Mirkwood. Fíli almost laughed. What a strange turn of events! The elf captain appearing, their jailer, and then—the blond elf! He appeared soon after the captain, jumping into the fray and quickly taking down an orc. It was such a relief and lucky happenstance Fíli might have wept if he wasn’t fighting reeking orcs and defending children tooth and nail—quite literally. Orcish armor was foul to say the least. 

The two elves swiftly took good care of the four orcs in the room, effectively using their close-distance knives Fíli might like to inspect some time if he got the chance. They were all fluid grace and calculated stance. It was almost a pleasure to watch the two elves kill the orcs, not only because it was death otherwise, but because they were quite showy. Of course all their moves were to conserve stamina and maintain strength, but their style of fighting was not even remotely similar to his own. Fíli could appreciate good fighting and weaponry whenever he found it, even in elves. 

Then as soon as it started, it was over; there were four dead orcs and two elves who both seemed poised to leap out the windows in haste. 

“You killed them!” Bain exclaimed in astonishment. 

“There are more coming,” the elf with the blond hair said, supposedly a male but Fíli couldn’t decipher how. “Tauriel—lets go.” He turned towards the door and disappeared through it into the night. 

The red-headed elf—Tauriel—made to follow. Kíli hissed and writhed on the floor and Òin fell to his knees behind him, holding up his shoulders. One look at Kíli and the healer knew. Fíli couldn’t take his eyes away from his brother, knowing in a deep part of himself there was a reckoning he would have to face, and it carved him out whole. Òin looked up and his eyes met his, then to the elf still standing in the kitchen, a dead orc at her feet, watching Kíli incredulously. 

“We’re losing him!” Òin cried, his own regularly solid voice trembling. Fíli’s very breath stole away but he managed to look upon Tauriel, seeing her in full since she had arrived. Her eyes were wide and she looked at an utter loss; for words, to go this way or that, unsure of what to do next. It was disconcerting in the least to see the elf look so stock-still and frozen. Were they not supposed to know most everything? Her mouth opened and closed to say something, anything, watching a dwarf die among wreckage and dead bodies, yet it was clear she recognized him. It was long moments before Tauriel spun on her heel to follow her companion out the door. 

Something slipped away from Fíli then that he couldn’t quite place at the elf’s departure, but it was like a small flame he obediently kept stoking and it suddenly sputtered out. He collapsed to his knees next to his brother and took his hand, quivering as his own were, and he clutched at it desperately. “Kíli, _nadadith_ , please…,” he whispered frantically, furiously battling the terror that bubbled at the back of his throat like molten iron. 

“I’m going to save him. Move him to the table,” Tauriel suddenly spoke above them, her clear voice ringing like distant music, a leafy plant held in her hand. Its fragrance filled the space and banished the smell of blood and dust yet it did not clear the thorns from Fíli’s head. Òin seemed just as puzzled as he for they did not move, not until another joined them on the floor at Kíli’s feet. 

“Come you, you heard her! We have to move him!” It was Bofur, taking Kíli’s legs. Òin responded first, hauling up Kíli’s shoulders, but it took another moment for Fíli to react. He put his arms around Kíli’s back and Bain and Sigrid appeared to help lift him to the kitchen table, Tilda clearing it hastily. 

“A bowl of water, please,” Tauriel spoke softly to the youngest of Bard’s girls, and she nodded quickly to fetch her request. Fíli settled himself behind Kíli’s head to hold his shoulders down and to whisper to him, should he need to before the last. 

Tauriel carefully removed the bandages around Kíli’s leg Òin maintained for the better part of a day, and immediately Kíli was thrashing and pulling and shouting. Bofur held down one arm and Òin the other, all watching what Tauriel would do next. 

Tilda brought the bowl of water over and the elf rinsed the plant in the water, and Fíli recognized the tightly woven leaves and the white buds as kingsfoil. Bofur found it! He actually did! He didn’t have a moment to rejoice and thank him profusely for Tauriel started rubbing the kingsfoil between her slender fingers, releasing the full potency of the weed’s fragrance into the air. It was like a fresh spring breeze after a long winter, clean and bright and bounding newness and a thought of sunshine. And then she starting speaking elvish and everything seemed to take on a new hue and a settled calmness replaced the anxious tension in the room. Her voice rang clear like summer rain, her words a mystery but there was a magic hidden behind them that was yet unknown to the others, but how soothing it was. It was almost like she was singing, the elvish syllables slipping into the air like a melody as she rubbed the kingsfoil between her hands, exuding the ethereal smells further. 

She pressed the green leaves and white buds to Kíli’s wound and at first his writhing was more intense. He clenched his teeth and tossed his head back in agony, his hands curling into fists. Sigrid called for Tilda to help her hold down his other leg for his strength heightened in his pain. Fíli’s fingers curled into his tunic, hoping against hope that he would survive this. But then if he could believe his eyes, Kíli started to slacken as Tauriel’s singing grew louder and more insistent. She pressed her fingers urgently to his wound and it was truly amazing to see Kíli relax for the first time in days at her touch. His eyes were wide and incredulous as he watched the elf captain sing melodically and intricately, his breath slowing and his limbs falling still. Those surrounding the table were stilled in wonder at this remarkable feat of healing, but Fíli more than anyone. A smile grew on his face he couldn’t hide when his brother’s lost all tension as color slowly returned to it, and he didn’t realize he was smiling until after he knew what pulled at his cheeks. 

Slowly Tauriel’s voice drifted into sweet wisps, and at last Kíli lay still and sound on the table, his breath coming gently and his eyes miraculously closed in ease. “There, it is finished,” she said at length, brushing her fingers over her tunic. 

“He will live?” Fíli asked, surprised at how his voice shook. 

She looked at him then and Fíli felt exposed of all his secrets for a strange fleeting moment, but then it faded away as a kind smile rose to her lovely face. “Yes, he will live. He will need another application of _athelas_ , but yes… he will be all right.”

Fíli swallowed thickly and peeled his eyes away from her piercing look to gaze at his brother. No, he would not lose him, not today, not before his time. He smiled a little to himself though everyone saw it, relieved more than he could say. The weight lifted from his shoulders but his heart still clenched in his chest. A hand fell on his shoulder and Fíli turned to see Bofur smiling at him, smiling right through him, tangible and present and alive. Oh, it was almost too much. 

Fíli managed to slide to his feet, fighting tears and catching his fleeting breath. His throat ached. He couldn’t cry here, not in front of so many, he couldn’t look so weak. But Bofur was here and he felt like a child because nothing was so lovely and wonderful to have him back within arms distance, but he knew that if he embraced him now, there would be no stopping his embarrassing crying. Luckily Òin spoke up before Bofur could move to hug him. 

“Why don’t you two go and see if there are any more orcs?” he suggested on the spot, seeing the prince ready to fall apart. “That priss of an elf might not’ve taken care of ‘em all.” His eyes still worked even if his ears didn’t, and he knew of the proud desire not to cry in view of so many, and he knew of the blatant love between the two of them, so he figured to give them an excuse to leave for a moment. He winked at Fíli when he cast his grateful eyes on him. 

Bofur’s face was confused at first but with some insistent looks from the healer he realized what he meant. Fíli was gasping and sniffing and rapidly blinking, squaring his shoulders, and looking like he was certainly about to burst at any moment. “Ohh, of course. Right. Let’s go check, Fíli, see if we can nab any of them,” Bofur said quickly and snatched Fíli’s hand. Tauriel could be heard quietly laughing as they stepped their way over bodies and wreckage to the front door. 

As soon as the door closed behind them Fíli’s face crumpled and his tears spilled, but Bofur was there to catch and comfort him. Fíli curled into Bofur’s shoulder and sobbed, finally feeling how truly exhausted he was and letting everything pour from him. Bofur grasped his trembling shoulders tight and cradled his head soothingly, whispering quiet words. “Oh, Fíli, my sweet heart. It’s all right now, love, it’s all right.” His voice was like nothing Fíli had ever heard, tender and soft and exactly what he needed. He felt a little foolish for crying so much but soon enough he didn’t care because it felt so lovely to be in Bofur’s arms again. _He’s here, he’s here, he’s not arrested…_ , Fíli thought and clutched at him tighter. 

“Bofur, I thought you were arrested or lost! You found the kingsfoil, Bofur, you _found it_ , “ Fíli cried and lifted his head from his shoulder, smiling wide and bright into his face. “I was so scared without you here, but Bofur… I can’t thank you enough. I owe you so much for saving Kíli’s life, you went and found the kingsfoil and…”

Bofur shook his head, looking a tad sheepish. “I didn’t save him, Tauriel did, with her elf healing.” Of course, Bofur would deflect any thanks to someone else to be humble. Fíli sputtered a laugh and shook his head adamantly. 

“No, you did. Without the kingsfoil, Tauriel wouldn’t have been able to do much else than Òin. You went out and found it, you didn’t have to but you did!” he smiled a little wearily now and leaned in to kiss him. Pulling away, he furrowed his brows. “What happened to your lip?” he asked, using his thumb to pull at his mouth. 

“Ah,” Bofur chuckled, pulling Fíli closer. “I ran into some orcs on the way back. I clocked a few in the face but hurt my hand a little. I think it’s bruised.” He left out the part where an orc threw him into a wall and he blacked out for a few minutes, waking up with a face full of nets and covered in baskets and vegetables. Fíli didn’t need to add to his worries by fretting over Bofur too. 

Bofur raised his hand for Fíli to look at, and indeed the back of his hand was purpling slightly, his knuckles red and swollen. Fíli gave him a scolding look but appeared more relieved than anything. Bofur smiled and moved to put his hat on Fíli’s head before wiping his tears away with his thumbs. 

“Don’t worry about me, love. Your brother needs your thoughts more than I do,” Bofur said quietly, looking deep into Fíli’s watery blue eyes, meaning to comfort him but it only made him tear up more. 

Fíli put his hands over Bofur’s on his cheeks, taking shaky breaths. “He’s going to live, Bofur. I thought by the end of tonight he would surely die, but he’s going to live!”

Bofur grinned. “Things aren’t so bad now, are they? Sure, Smaug might be waltzing here this minute, but Kíli’s going to live.”

Fíli nodded before snorting. “Smaug, waltzing?” he rolled his eyes. “Taking his sweet damn time, you mean. Thorin and the others, though… what if they—“ 

“Shush and kiss me for a moment,” Bofur interjected and pulled Fíli’s face forward to bring their mouths together for a few slow seconds. Bofur rested their foreheads together and they stood in quiet solitude before he spoke again. “I love you, and we’ll all make it.”

Fíli smiled, rubbing his fingers over Bofur’s wrists, reveling in his mere presence. “I love you, too. I won’t risk losing you also.”

“I know, and me either,” Bofur whispered before kissing Fíli’s brow and wrapping his arms around his shoulders in another embrace.

They stood in each others arms for a few minutes longer, nothing but the sounds of water and ice lapping against the docks, and steps moving inside the house keeping them company. At length they stood apart and Fíli turned toward the looming shape of the Lonely Mountain, wreathed in cloud and moonlight. He wondered how they would ever get there, by boat or by foot surely, but how long would that take? Would there be anyone to greet them? Was Smaug dead? Thorin was cunning and fueled by decades of great rage and hate, surely they would have found a way to slay him. Then there would be no worry for Bard and the black arrow, and Laketown would remain safe and intact. 

Bofur kept a lingering hand on Fíli’s back as they looked at the Mountain, unknowingly sharing the same thoughts. He watched as a small pin of light flared and faded beneath the long shadow, and then reappear, greater and brighter and flaming orange. Broad wings blocked out the moon for a short time and both of the dwarves’ hearts stopped as they knew that that meant. There was a mighty roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Lake, rattling the decks and trembling the water. 

Fíli turned to Bofur and the look of fear returned to his face, eyes wide. All thoughts of sadness faded to be replaced by urgent survival, their skin shivering with the energy to flee. 

_“Feel the wrath of my flame, Men of the Lake! I am Fire! I am Death!”_


	34. Planes like Vultures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planes like Vultures - Le Loup  
> \--  
> The aftermath of Smaug destroying Laketown; Fili becomes quite the diplomat, but Bofur is always there when he needs him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I guess I lied about updating sooner :( I had the chapter all written and ready to go, but I just really didn't want to type it... and I was preoccupied with writing more chapters. I think after the ones I've written, there's maybe a MAXIMUM of ten chapters left. So, like we're talking 50ish chapters here. OH MY GOOD LORD I'm about to finish this fic! And afterwards I'll start another Bofur/Fili one because there are parts of this one I'm unsatisfied with, and it'll be set differently, of course. I'm excited! :D

A shape passed overhead and all Bofur could think of while he ran was, _claws like meat hooks, teeth like razors_. He wondered if Bilbo fainted at the sight of Smaug in the flesh. He wondered if he ever saw him at all. 

The smoke of burning wood and the fumes of boiled water clouded much of the town, among the cacophony of screams and crumbling homes. Tauriel held Kíli on her back as she led the way through the crowded docks to the only bridge that connected Laketown to land. Bain carried Tilda in his arms, the littlest tucking her head into his shoulder at her older sister’s insistence, clutching onto his tunic tight. Sigrid followed them close behind, Fíli after, then Òin, leaving Bofur to follow up the back of the queue. He was trying to wave others to follow him and a good amount did, but there were many who were blinded in their terror and in fear of their family’s lives. It was hard to keep up with the group for the docks were crackling with the heat and rafters fell across their way, not to mention the thick smoke hindering their sight and smell. 

Smaug cackled above the flaming town, circling like a hawk about to dive on his prey, dropping half-eaten bodies into the lake. He was hunting hundreds of tiny little mice lost in a maze, among the flames of his own artwork and the small squeals brought him pleasure at his game. For it was but a game to him, a leisurely hunt, and the Men of the Lake were perfect prey. He swallowed them whole and some he roasted, others simply fell from his maws in broken agony, and he roared with laughter. 

“Such tiny creatures! Scramble and crawl and scream, I will eat you all!” The dragon exclaimed above the town, his wings vast and blocking out the light of the moon, blowing the smoke and flames higher. Bofur looked up just as he passed overhead, his belly armor sparkling like a cloak of jewels, releasing a jet of white-hot flame that exploded over a group of houses far ahead of them, but the heat was so strong Bofur had to shield his eyes and face. 

It was so hot. There was fire everywhere, smoke to choke his nose and his sight, flames lapping their hungry tongues at his clothes. He was covered in scorch marks and his tunic coated in soot, sweat dripping down his face as he ran behind Òin, bounding over fallen bodies and smoldering wood. Smaug wheeled above them and Tauriel took a quick turn to avoid the onslaught of fire, ducking behind a wall and gathering the others to shield away from the blast. 

“We are getting closer to the bridge!” she shouted at them over the loud sounds of crackling fire and buckling walls, adjusting Kíli on her back, who was now lucid and searching about for any other danger near to them. “We must hurry or he will think to destroy it!”

“What if he has already?” Bain asked, his voice amazingly steady. Bofur was surprised the lad was so focused and so alert, for how young he must be. Tilda burrowed her face deeper into Bain’s neck when Smaug roared above, and Fíli handed her doll to her so she may cradle it close. He had kept it safely tucked in his tunic, shielded from the fire and smoke. Bofur put a hand on the girl’s back to soothe her whimpering for a moment, and looked at Tauriel to see what she would say next. 

The elf stood up slightly to peer over the low wall, then sank back to her heels. “No, he has not. I see others escaping that way. Quickly, we must run now!”

Just as soon as they were about to stand and bolt for the bridge, Bofur caught sight of the tall tower on top of the Master’s house bearing the windlance. “Look!” he shouted to catch their attention, pointing to the silhouette of a tall man standing before the lance. “It’s the bowman!” 

Bard’s children gaped at the sight of their father, flames and embers billowing into the air around him as he held aloft a long spear, the last black arrow. Tilda peeked out her eyes from behind Bain’s shoulder and they grew wide, her siblings gasping next to her. It was quite the sight, the Man staunch and steady as he set the arrow into place, swiveling the lance into position and pulling the bow taut. They watched in sheer awe as he took aim, Smaug flying high above, following his form with the arrow point. If Bofur’s eyes were not mistaken, a little bird tittered at his shoulder, a thrush fluttering at his ear, and then he let the arrow fly. 

A terrible scream echoed across the Lake and an arch of fire ignited as the dragon writhed, his underside glittering a dark, sparkling red. His wings flapped fruitlessly as he convulsed, spewing molten fire as he roared angry curses. Tauriel did not let them linger as she herded them to stand, taking the moment to sprint away from the devastation across the trembling bridge as fast as their feet could carry them. Smaug screeched and hissed, flying high into the smoky clouds, then fell silent utterly. He was held aloft in the air a few long moments and then he fell from great heights upon Laketown. 

Leaping to shore, Bofur turned around and watched as the beast crashed into the lake and the flames of Esgaroth, great clouds of steam erupting from the water as waves splashed and fumes sputtered, billows ascending into the night sky like a hissing thundercloud. Tumults of water lashed onto the lakeshore, undulating waves destroying what remained of the bridge, tossing those who were upon it into the lake. They landed into the icy waters and swam to shore, others held tight in their old boats, and when the steam blew away from the wind, there were small embers left of Laketown amidst the ruins of Smaug. 

Bofur fell to his knees and then onto his backside like his body was another entity, gaping at the black clouds out in the lake, panting and dumbfounded. They had escaped, scarcely hurt and alive, but there were many others who had not. The Men of the Lake and the four Dwarves of Erebor, accompanied by a Woodland elf, sat in awe as the remains of Esgaroth smoldered and burned, crumbling into the water. 

Of the many hundreds of men and women who lived in Laketown, only a third of that number lived. Many of them were wounded grievously or slightly, and only a few had brought provisions and supplies in their boats and bags. The town was woken late in the night to the dragon descending upon them, so there was very little time to prepare for the destruction that was to come. The few farms that were on the lakeshore were gathering posts, the villagers congregating there to regroup and find family members. The food stores were opened and the provisions passed around, but there was truthfully little food to feed so many. Ovin was one such farmer, and he was not greedy, handing out what blankets and clothing and medicine he could among his fellows. Fires were kindled and the wounded tended to. Tauriel and Òin were busy left and right patching burns and easing their passage to the Halls of the Valar of those they could not save. The lady Sigrid assisted where she might, often at the side of Tauriel and a handful of other women and healers who could hold their own, flitting to and fro. 

Bofur, Fíli and Kíli helped where they could, chopping wood and making stews, setting up makeshift tents and passing out blankets. Kíli had fashioned a sort of crutch for himself to walk around on, but since Tauriel still told him even between assisting others to keep off his leg, he was able to sew blankets together and holes that needed patching, helping others rest and feeding them water. Bofur and Fíli busied themselves with making do with what food there was provided, preparing it into stews to pass around in shared bowls and keeping the fires lit. Bain and Tilda had gone around the camp to gather the children who had lost parents and family, herding them around a large fire to keep them warm and soothed, helping wipe tears away and trying to bring a smile out of the darkness. Bard was not yet to be seen, and it was clear on their faces that they worried for him.

The sun barely touched the horizon when Fíli stood up from tending a man’s burn to gaze at the lakeshore. Already debris washed up among the silent waves, blackened bits of wood mostly, but among them a figure emerged from the water, two bodies draped under his shoulders, black hair dripping around his face. Bard strode to shore in heavy steps, keeping his kin upright, and quickly there were shouts of his return, his children soon flocking to him with a blanket and relieved tears streaming down their faces. 

“Bard! Its Bard, he’s alive!” One villager exclaimed. “Bard the Dragon-slayer!” Another announced, and quickly praises of the Dragon-slayer drifted through the camp, chanting thanks. The bowman smiled slightly and dipped his head in acknowledgement once he released his arms from around his family, but he paid them little mind as he made his way to the Master at the back of the camp. The tall, pot-bellied Master of Esgaroth was hollering for more food and fire, perhaps a flask of brandy, and shivering quite dramatically in his cocoon of wooly blankets. As he loudly complained, plenty others sent him resentful looks, but none as hateful as Fíli. He followed Bard, Bofur soon at his side, but his thoughts were bent on the Master and how nice he would look as a rug. As if sensing his thoughts, Bofur discreetly put his hand into his, grounding Fíli from his mounting anger and he was thankful for it. 

As the two of them approached, there was a gathering crowd around the Master and Bard, the villagers throwing vivid complaints and threats. He had left the town early and had not thought to warn his people, finding refuge on the shore as the city and people burned. He had left his people to fend for themselves to save his own hide, and Fíli couldn’t suppress his lip curling into a distasteful snarl. 

“While ye left yer people to die in fire, Bard stayed and killed tha beast!” One man exclaimed.

“Yeh left befare things got serious!” another shouted.

“No warning; nothin’, ya stinkin’ swine!”

Then the Master stood up from his tree stump fuming and sputtering for a retort, shucking the many blankets he had wrapped around him, and raised his hands to silent the crowd. He took a breath before starting. “Why, people, do I receive all your blame? Have you forgotten who awoke the beast? Who sent it down upon us? Instead of thanks for housing and feasting them, the dwarves of the Mountain send us dragon fire and ruin!” His voice rang loud and clear, reminding the Men of Thorin’s speech in Esgaroth where he promised heaps of gold once Smaug was slain. The men stopped and pondered the Master’s words, swayed by them and discussing quietly amongst themselves.

Anger stirred hotly in Fíli’s gut and throat as the Master continued. “Aye, this is our thanks! Our town destroyed, the death of our men, women and children! What recompense shall we receive from the Mountain? And what a great recompense we deserve!” Shouts of assent followed and yet Bard had not spoken, standing still and watching the Master, calculating, planning. 

Fíli would not abide the false smear the Master was creating upon his uncle and his companions. He would not let such slander shame his people. Before Bofur could stop him, Fíli stepped through the ring of Men to face the Master, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his jaw set in a rigid line and his eyes fierce upon the pompous man. 

“And who is this? Another Dwarf to spew lies to my people? Hmm?” the Master spoke with contempt. Fíli schooled his anger and let it simmer like a quietly snarling animal, waiting for the right moment. 

“I am Fíli, son of Dìs, sister-son to Thorin Under the Mountain, heir to the throne of Erebor, Master.” His voice was loud and solid, calling the attention of the Men once more like Thorin had days before. He turned to them and saw their eyes upon him and knew he had their ears. A slither of doubt snaked into his gut but he quickly squashed it. 

Bofur squeezed his way to the front of the ring of people after Fíli, and he watched the prince scan his eyes across the crowd with a hint of uncertainty, until his eyes fell upon him. Bofur gave him a nod of reassurance, and at that Fíli squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly, turning to the Master again. 

“You speak ill of my uncle’s promises to the Men of the Lake and of Dale, should it be rebuilt. Bard, Girion’s heir, has slain the dragon that laid vigil over the hoard, and now it is free to give, as it had been declared,” Fíli spoke calmly but there was a hidden strength behind his words Bofur had not heard before; strength befitting a crown prince. “Recompense you shall have, Master, and great thanks from the Dwarves of Erebor hereafter. You have housed us kindly and honorably and we are not soon to forget. 

“Recompense you shall have for the destruction of Esgaroth and her people. I ask that you do not doubt this promise that I give you, or doubt the intentions of my uncle and King. I assure you, him and my companions tried all their might to keep Smaug contained within the Mountain.”

The Master hooted derisively. “But they _failed_ , O Dwarf Prince! How can I not doubt these promises when the King of the hoard brought the dragon here in his greed and sickness in the first place? Hmm?”

Fíli grit his teeth, almost feeling like he was glaring daggers at the man for his gaze was so sharp. He had to think quickly to placate the Master in order to placate the people he wanted to reassure. “I will not succumb to the sickness nor to greed, Master, for I am not of that mind,” Fíli said, knowing instantly that the Master doubted him. “I swear you will receive your promised portion even if I must give up my own. You will have your due. You will have your pay and our eternal gratitude. You will have it. I swear it.” He looked hard at the Master, figuratively laying down his pride and accepting the weakness that may be perceived, but he prayed above all that the man saw the blunt honesty and determination in his face. 

The Master gave pause, brushing his hand over his thinning hair, his shrewd eyes scrolling Fíli over. He pursed his lips in thought as whispers surrounded them, scanning the crowd before his eyes fell on Fíli again, who had never once stopped watching him. Then, he opened his mouth to speak, stroking his mustache. “And what of my people who should go to Dale rebuilt? What of their due?”

Fíli knew in his heart the Master was less concerned for his people than he was for the gold, but he turned to Bard then. “They will not want. Bard, Girion’s heir, Lord of Dale, will receive a promised portion also, to rebuild.”

The Master was a bit ruffled by this but Bard tilted his head in thought and Fíli did not fail to see the rising questions or the doubt in his gaze. Bard gathered the blanket tighter around his shoulders and Fíli remained strongly standing, watching Bard take a few slow steps towards him. Fíli knew of the Bowman’s thoughts even just by looking at him, but also from the time he stood up to Thorin in the square while Esgaroth still stood. His face was guarded but thoughtful all at once, coming to stand a mere few feet away from the prince. 

He abruptly turned to the ring of people circling them and said in a loud, deep voice, “As you know, I am bard, heir of Girion of Dale. As his successor, I intend to become Lord of Dale once more to rebuild that great city of Men as it was in days past,” excited words and cheers sprang among the people but before they could get too loud, he spoke again, stepping forward in his sooty clothes and dripping blanket, rounding up his courage and speaking clear and true. 

“We will rebuild it to its former glory and we will be prosperous once more. At the treasure that now lies unguarded at the slaying of the beast,” he looked over his shoulder at Fíli briefly before turning back to the crowd. “We will use our promised recompense of gold and wealth to raise Dale from its ruins! Who will share in this greatness with me? Who will become part of great tales to recreate the flourishing markets of the North? Who will take part in its glory? Who will join me?!” 

Whistling and shouting and happy cheers erupted in the crowd when only minutes ago it was glum and angry and miserable. Bard turned to Fíli and looked down on him, a wry smile on his face. “Do not forget your promise, Master Dwarf, or you will answer to me,” Bard said in a kindly voice but the threat did not go unheard. Fíli nodded stiffly and swallowed, knowing the great web he had spun and equally knowing that if anything went amiss he would be caught and speared. He knew this and grudgingly accepted it wholly. 

Bard appeared satisfied and he drifted back towards the fires, putting his arms around Sigrid and Bain as Tilda clung to his hip. Fíli looked back to the Master who was scowling after Bard, and then at Fíli when he caught his eye. Alfrid had started clapping along with the others but when his master caught sight of him he awkwardly lowered his hands. Inwardly groaning, Fíli strode through the lingering people the opposite way he had come, the villagers clapping him on the back and some of them shouting threats or thanks after him. Fíli ignored all of them. 

\-------

Bofur hadn’t seen where Fíli had gone, so he searched around for him through the dissipating crowd. He was achingly tired but he wouldn’t find a wink of sleep if Fíli was milling about by himself. Ovin the farmer and another by the name of Rollo were able to find some canvas to set up shelters for those who couldn’t fit into the barns and pens, but there were still plenty of tents about, and the fires roared to give the people heat. Autumn was leaving quickly to make way for winter, so the nights were cold, and even more so without proper homes for the sick and the wounded. The biting wind nearly blew right through Bofur, chilling him to the bone.

The barns housed most of the sick and the hurt, and looking in them Bofur found Òin fussing over a resistant Man and arguing with him because the old dwarf couldn’t hear well. Sigrid was among them, quietly speaking to a woman and smiling sadly as she wrapped her blistered burns. Tauriel was cleaning wads of kingsfoil that were collected from the frost in the rainwater barrels, instructing the healers who watched. 

Fíli was not among them so he started his way back toward the fires and tents to see if he could find him there. Bain and Tilda had found a fire to huddle near among the orphaned children, sitting close together underneath a blanket. The youngest of Bard’s children had a child’s head in her lap, sleeping, and she was combing her fingers through her doll’s hair of yarn as Bain poked a stick into the fire, keeping his sister close. They both looked up when Bofur approached, offering tired smiles on their dirty faces. 

“What is it, Master Bofur?” Bain asked, pulling the blanket around him a little tighter.

Bofur gave a smile in return and crossed his arms, shivering against the wind and trying to get what heat he could from behind the ring of sleeping children around it. “Have you seen Fíli?” he asked, rubbing his hands together over the flames.

“Yes, I saw him head towards the creek with some water skins, that way,” he pointed past Ovin’s small house toward the creek that fed into the river the villagers used for fresh water. They might have used the water from the lake but there were already those who claimed it was cursed, stinking with the filth of the dragon so soon after his death. 

“Thank you,” Bofur nodded and went in the direction Bain pointed, holding his hands beneath his arms. 

He walked across a small part of a field that lay fallow for the winter, pulling his hat down further on his head. He was thankful this one time his hair was loose for it covered his neck and kept it shielded from the wind. He saw a dot of blond hair even before he came upon the creek, through the sparse and leafless trees past the edge of the field. Quietly he approached through the brush and knelt next to Fíli, taking an empty skin from the pile between them and filling it in the current of the stream, ice forming in thin sheets on the shore. 

“You disappeared,” Bofur started calmly and without accusation, looking at Fíli through the corner of his eyes. 

He didn’t respond right away, corking the skin he was filling and putting it aside in a forming pile. He grabbed another and unplugged the cork, dipping the mouth of it into the water to fill it up. “I needed to clear my head,” he answered in a low voice, almost in a mumble. 

Bofur nodded and waited, corking the full skin and putting it in Fíli’s gathered pile. It was a few minutes before Fíli continued. “I don’t doubt the Men will get their portion of the hoard, but a larger part of me does. What if Thorin is like Thròr and falls to the gold sickness? What then? And there is so few in the Mountain to look after it… at least until Dain arrives, which I’m sure he will in a matter of days once Thorin sends word for him,” Bofur had not thought of Dain. “Until then, it lies essentially unguarded like Bard was so kind to point out,” Fíli said with a tinge of annoyance. “If the Men think to mount an attack, or… or even the elves, then I am not sure what will happen. Either way, we cannot linger here long, Bofur. We must make our way to the Mountain tomorrow at the latest.”

Bofur raised his head and saw the sky brightening in reds and deep purples, a dry smile forming on his face. “It is tomorrow.”

Fíli did not share his humor, instead sighing wearily and sitting back on his heels, rubbing his eyes after he put the water skin aside. “A terrible, terrible night,” he said and shut his eyes. “So much death, fire, smoke… beneath the Lonely Mountain hoarding gold. It doesn’t seem real.”

Bofur put the water skin in the pile and looked at Fíli, seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the crease between his brows. The youth that had shined in him in the beginning of the quest, all his innocence and vigor, it was gone from him now, replaced with hard reckoning and grim countenance. It disheartened Bofur to see it, and he wished so much he could put it back. “Aye,” he said, exhaling heavily. “What a fine mess we’ve signed up for. If there’s anything to remember, though, is that you’re the Crown Prince now.”

Fíli turned his unamused eyes onto Bofur, who raised his hands in defense. “You certainly seemed like it. It was a sight to see, you know, if you could have only seen yourself,” Bofur smiled softly, his eyes bright, and Fíli looked at him with more attention. “I’m so proud of you. You’ll be a fine Crown Prince, Fíli, and an honorable one should these days endure.”

Fíli saw all the exhaustion in the lines of the face, the red marks across his cheeks and nose, and thought for a moment where the adoration in eyes came from. He smiled at him like Thorin had when he had finished a set of attacks with his dual swords perfectly, but there was love in there that only Bofur could give. Fíli felt humbled that Bofur was proud of him for speaking to the Master, and he said he would be a good prince, which was almost more than Fíli could believe. But Bofur was the most honest dwarf Fíli had ever met, and he never meant any ill. He forced the creeping heat away from his cheeks by taking a skin and filling it again, but one thing he couldn’t force was Bofur’s contagious smile. “I couldn’t be that dwarf without you there,” Fíli said to the creek, then looked up at the miner next to him, his lover, and through all the tiredness weighing on his shoulders he still managed to make Bofur’s heart skip. 

“For as long as you should have me, I will be. Count on that,” he leaned forward and kissed Fíli’s scruffy cheek and adjusted the purplish scarf around his neck like a fussy Dori before they gathered the filled water skins in their arms. 

On their way back across the fallow field, Fíli asked, “Do you mean that?”

Bofur looked over at him and had to think about what he meant for a moment. “Of course I mean it.”

“No matter what happens?”

Bofur furrowed his brows. “Yes, Fíli, no matter what happens,” he replied with a hint of confusion. 

“Even if I get the gold sickness?”

That gave Bofur pause and a realization, even though it was unexpected. “Fíli, you’re only creating more worries for yourself and fretting over what hasn’t happened yet,” Bofur nudged their shoulders together as they walked, keeping a lightness to his tone. “You won’t get the gold sickness. Even if you do, I’ll throw you over my shoulder as soon as I see a sign and we’ll be so far away from that mountain it’ll knock your socks off, love. You’ll be fine. I know you will. Kíli will also, so don’t worry over that troublemaker more than you have to, worrywart.”

Fíli chuckled and it was like music to Bofur’s ears; it had been so long since he had heard it, it seemed. “But I have so much to worry about, Bofur. How do I get rid of it all?”

“Hope for the best. Know it in your heart that it will be all right,” Bofur replied like it was as easy as that, but he knew that it wasn’t so, at least not for Fíli. “I don’t know how you manage it, truthfully, making more worries for yourself, but there you go at it,” Bofur winked and tossed a water skin on top of Fíli’s arms. “If you want to know, the way I see it is you only need to really worry about getting the Men their gold. They need it more than any Dwarf does. We’ll mine more anyway—and don’t mention Thorin or my hair will turn grey this instant,” Bofur added as soon as Fíli opened his mouth. 

After a moment of half-smiling at his feet, trotting along next to each other, Fíli let out a gusty sigh. “Why do you always have to be so practical?” Fíli said with slight sarcasm, knocking his shoulder into Bofur’s. 

“Because you know I’m right,” Bofur replied and Fíli guffawed, laughing heartily. It brought a grin to the miner’s face.

“Ohh, you’re too good for me, Mister Bofur. You set me to rights more often than you should,” Fíli said lightly and Bofur stopped next to him. He turned and saw dark brown eyes look into him and through him, yet he reveled in it and did not shy away. 

“It’s because I love you, so I don’t mind,” Bofur said and stepped closer so their water skins were pressed together, unable to move their arms.

Fíli mockingly groaned, rolling his eyes. “But you’re such a sap…,” he smiled victoriously before Bofur kissed him soundly. 

They made their way back to the camp across the trowel trails in the ground, but not before making a stop behind a thick outcrop of trees that hid them through thick trunks and scrub, chuckling red-faced in the early morning chill close together. They kissed for a few stolen moments, forgetting everything for a brief respite from the death they had faced. Reluctantly they went back to camp and handed out the water skins, growing increasingly more solemn and subdued as there was indeed little happiness to be found except in each other. 

Keeping one water skin, Fíli brought Bofur to the fire where Bain and Tilda were finally sleeping, and Bofur had found an extra blanket to use. He sat against the slender trunk of a birch next to the warm crackling fire and beckoned Fíli to him. 

The blond finally laid his head on the miner’s lap after his insistent looks and fussy comments, and it was a good thing too for he had fallen asleep within minutes. Bofur smiled at his soft snores, carefully laying his hand over his hair, and at length he slid his eyes closed and leaned his head back against the tree. He followed into exhausted sleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by my tumblr at peeeeeaches.tumblr.com, and my artblog (NSFW) smuttypeaches.tumblr.com too! I'd love it if you would! :D


	35. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother - Lord Huron
> 
>  _How long have I known you, brother?_  
>  _Hundreds of lives, thousands of years_  
>  _How many miles have we wandered_  
>  _Under the sky, chasing our fear?_  
>  \--  
> The group travels back to Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been about eight months since I've updated this story.. how dishonorable of me, I apologize ;) Its been revived for the moment thanks to some lovely people on tumblr and a few comments on here, so if you doubt commenting on a old story, don't because you really inspire the author :D 
> 
> Thank you for sticking around if you're here to read! Also, prepare yourself for some Kiliel feels since BOFA didn't have them together much... this chapter gives them some much needed time ;)

Fíli agreed to stay one more day at the Men’s refugee camp to help set up tents and makeshift huts for the sick and wounded, mostly due to Bofur’s urging. They had slept most of the morning away and upon waking, there was much to be done, so Bofur found it more practical to stay the day and leave the next morning for the Mountain. Kíli agreed on the notion but Òin was hesitant to concede because there was still so many wounds to be tended, but the Lady Sigrid assured him that she would take good care of her people. Òin had grown quite fond of the girl when her prowess in healing herbs shone through and she was a bit stubborn in her assurances, so Òin had no choice but to leave with the rest of the Dwarves. 

When all was decided, Kíli hobbled on his crutch to pull his brother aside. “Fíli, I must talk with you,” he said rather seriously. Fíli thought for a moment with a surge of panic that his brother was hurt again, but his face was flushed and his eyes bright and livid, so he quickly silenced the feeling. 

“Of course. What is it?” Fíli asked and helped Kíli sit on a nearby crate. 

Kíli did not hiss or groan when he stretched his leg out in front of him, only made a face of discomfort that quickly passed, but even that was an immense relief to Fíli. “You know Bard has sent Men to the Woodland Elves for assistance,” Kíli started, holding his crutch in front of him. 

“Aye,” Fíli said, sitting down next to him, “Just this morning.”

Kíli nodded and looked to his knees to gather his thoughts and words. “Well, before the Orcs attacked Laketown, Tauriel had left against her King’s orders,” he glanced at Fíli and continued. “She tells me he would have her banished for disobeying. So…,” he sighed and Fíli furrowed his brows. “She asked if we would need assistance on our way to the Mountain tomorrow.”

Fíli knitted his brows deeper. He thought for a few moments about what Kíli said, trying to connect it all together. “Wait,” he narrowed his eyes. “Tauriel would like to escort us to Erebor? On the verge of being banished? Why would she do that? Shouldn't she just stay and talk to Thranduil about disobeying him?” 

“Well, yes, I thought that also,” Kíli said and to Fíli’s surprise, his cheeks started growing pink. “I asked her much the same, why she would want to take a group of Dwarves to the Mountain, because I thought it would look worse in Thranduil’s eyes than simply leaving Mirkwood against his orders,” he chuckled nervously. Fíli sat back and regarded his brother curiously. 

Kíli and Tauriel had been near constant companions since their arrival to the lake shore, chatting quietly amongst each other when they found the chance. Kíli helped bring Tauriel bandages when she needed them, water, herbs or the strongwine Ovin and Rollo had in store for the more wounded villagers in need of numbness. He was always talking around her, and in fact, Fíli had hardly seen him in the last two days, or Tauriel for that matter, for they were making rounds in the healing tents, always together. Fíli never thought much about it, but looking at his brother’s blushing face it started to make sense. 

He exhaled heavily. Leave it up to Kíli to fancy an elf. 

Fíli smiled a little wearily when he put his hand on Kíli’s shoulder. “If Tauriel wishes, then she may. But we do not know what sort of… situation awaits us in Erebor, and I don’t imagine Thorin would be too overjoyed to see an Elf at his doorstep so soon,” Kíli nodded fervently in agreement. “An escort only, Kíli. You must know that. She cannot stay.”

Kíli tried to hide his fondness for the elf in his eyes but Fíli knew the look all too well. “I know,” his voice was solemn when he spoke despite the excitement writ on his face. “I know, Fíli, and Tauriel, too.”

A bloom of sympathy grew in Fíli’s chest for his little brother then. Kíli knew the consequences for choosing an Elf and yet he still followed after her, and then Fíli realized. Tauriel knew she would have to face Thranduil, but rather than doing it so soon, where she would surely be exiled away from Mirkwood or accepted back on a shortened leash, either way it would be difficult for her to see the Dwarves again, or Kíli in particular. Her being an ‘escort’ was more than that; it was to prolong their time together. 

Fíli should have been upset, furious, angry, even, for Kíli being so foolish, so risky, yet he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but sadness and sympathy. Kíli, always so free-willed and heart-driven, would find himself in such a situation, with an Elf of all creatures. Fíli could see clearly the fondness in his face and in hers when he caught them speaking together. It was as clear as crystals, coy and yet blatant. 

By all means, if Fíli was a different Dwarf he would have flat out denied Tauriel’s request (and partly Kíli’s, to be sure). It was merely a two day’s trek along the lake to the front gate of Erebor, if the men could be believed, but Fíli had his doubts; he thought it would be more like three days. But even so, an Elf escort? It seemed absurd, yet now he knew there were ulterior motives even if Kíli didn’t elaborate. And besides, he had much gratitude for Tauriel healing his brother and saving his life, and she was a pleasant woman to have as a companion, even if she did walk quieter than a doe on air (which Fíli found a bit disconcerting). Fíli found himself smiling, reading his brother like a book. Kíli waited on his answer with quiet desperation, pleading and hoping behind his eyes. 

Even if their journey took them three days, it would be the longest they would have in each other’s company, and Fíli didn’t have the heart to deny that to them, even if he didn’t understand. 

“Alright. We can all leave tomorrow morning as soon as can be. Tell Tauriel that,” he said gustily, clapping Kíli on the back and standing up from the crate. 

Kíli’s smile was wide, his shoulders losing their tension when he looked at his brother. “I will. Thank you, Fíli.”

He smiled at him in reassurance and Kíli turned to hobble away, but before he could, Fíli said, “Kíli?” the brunet turned around, his face still glowing. “Is Tauriel the One you dream of? Is she in your Longing dreams?”

Kíli flushed so deep Fíli didn’t even need an answer. “Yes. She is my One. She has the red hair, and the starlight on the tips of her fingers. It’s her, Fíli,” he replied bashfully, fingering the hem of his tunic with a faint and besotted smile on his face that made Fíli elated to see. He smiled for him despite the lingering sorrow in his stomach, attempting to hide his concerns for his brother’s sake. 

“I’m glad to hear it, brother,” Fíli replied meaningfully for he really was glad, but still that sadness lingered. 

Kíli turned to surely find Tauriel again, and Fíli went to go find his own lover. He wondered if _he_ knew about this tryst between his brother and the she-elf Captain. _Probably, he sees everything_ , he thought with a lofty sigh. 

\-------

They accepted only as much supplies as they were to need for a two-day journey, and set out in the morning as planned, a few hours after dawn. As agreed, Tauriel came along, a bit to the confusion of Bard and the Men, but it went unquestioned. 

They started making their way on the eastern side of the Lake as it was the shortest route, going due-east for much of the first day. At night they made camp with the dry kindling they were encouraged to bring since any wood had not been seen for many decades where they were trekking through. In the morning they would head northeast, then north, keeping the river to their left and sometime on their right they would come upon the great ruins of Dale, and from there it was perhaps half a day to Erebor. 

Fíli sat in front of the fire looking at the crumbling maps the farmer Rollo was able to procure for him, staring at it closely with the light provided. “We've made good progress so far just today. If we move much the same tomorrow it could only be two and a half days instead of three.” 

“So rationing it is,” Òin said with a resigned tone, putting back some of the cram into his pack. 

“Aye,” Fíli said in much the same way, accepting a piece Bofur handed him. 

After a moment, Tauriel held out to Òin a bit of the cloth-wrapped way-bread with a disarming smile. “Here, Master Òin, you may have some of mine.”

Òin looked at the package of bread like she had offered him a taste of Orc flesh. The old apothecary was still wary of her intentions for coming with them, and although he admired her healing abilities, she was still an Elf. He kept most of his grumbling to himself and he treated her with a distant, polite courtesy, but it was evident he would rather keep it at that. “No, I couldn't,” he shook his head and turned slightly away from her, taking a large bite out of his portion of cram. 

Bofur scoffed and fixed the old Dwarf with an exasperated look. Òin lifted his trumpet to his ear to hear what he had to say. “Take it, Òin. As the elderly Dwarf here, it would be wise.” 

Kíli chuckled a little at that but Òin gaped, a tad offended at Bofur’s bluntness. “I am not so old, ye mouthy scamp!” Fíli joined his brother in quietly laughing but Bofur was not in the least put off. 

“Perhaps, but you can’t deny you’re hungry!” he countered with a cheeky smile. 

“I do not need as much as they gave me for provisions,” Tauriel added smoothly, the mere sound of her voice making Òin clap his mouth shut of any protests. “Truly. I insist, Master Òin.”

She held it out to him again, and this time Òin looked a little more relenting, glaring at the other Dwarves with distaste. Grumbling with a bit of infuriating curses, he begrudgingly took the cram without looking at Tauriel. “My thanks,” he forced beneath his breath, finishing his own bit of cram before eating the bit Tauriel gave him. 

“See! Wasn't so hard to accept some cram from a kind Elf, was it?” Kíli teased, eating his own ration, and slyly gazing at Tauriel next to him with admiration.

Bofur gave Fíli a knowing glance and they both snorted into their laps, laughing as they chewed. Kíli made a face at them and Tauriel smiled serenely with a hint of color across her cheeks. Òin didn’t know what they were laughing about but persistently glared at each one of them. 

Kíli had volunteered for first watch and so naturally Tauriel joined him, saying that her kind didn’t need much sleep to feel refreshed. Kíli was chivalrously doubtful at first but once she smiled at him, he had to relent. They found an outcropping of boulders to sit on a stone’s throw away from the fire, and from where he sat, Fíli could see Tauriel pointing up at the sky, mapping out all the stars Dwarves didn’t have names for. 

Bofur leaned heavily on his shoulder, resting his head on it but he didn’t close his eyes, curling into Fíli’s side as he held him close. They sat quietly together as Òin snored a few feet away, listening to the fire crackle and Kíli and Tauriel’s quiet voices. It was so natural and so comfortable to sit in silence with his lover, neither feeling the need to speak to alleviate the quietness. After the stress and trauma of the last few days, it was calming to let Bofur’s presence dissipate his worries, a sort of peace settling into his bones. 

He turned his head and kissed his temple, reveling in the warmth of his skin, his tangibility. It was wonderful, so Fíli did it again, and again, then kissed his brow, then his forehead. Bofur grasped Fíli’s shabby tunic as his heart raced while he planted tender kisses across his face, wondering where this rush of affection came from. He only sighed and let Fíli kiss him to soothe his anxiousness, feeling his love settle deep in his heart. 

There was a part of Fíli growing more and more prominent as his thoughts turned toward the Mountain. He wanted to believe Thorin would be free from goldsickness, but his head was telling him it would not be what he hoped. He honestly did not know what he would walk into when they arrived. For all he knew, everyone would be a pile of ash and the Mountain vacant, but he also knew that was not so. Every fiber in his being was telling him to protect, to remain loyal, but to doubt and doubt harder. He hated to have second thoughts on his uncle, but Fíli was nothing if not practical, and if what the history of his forefathers rang true, then he had every reason to reconsider. He was also loyal, and that ate at him secondly. But if in dire need he could not be loyal, his first instinct would be to protect Bofur and Kíli, at all costs. They came first before anything else, even before Thorin. That he knew for certain above all. 

When Fíli would not relent his hold of him or at least stop kissing his forehead, Bofur airily laughed and raised his head. “What’s this about?” Just looking into his lover’s face he saw everything that raced in that gold head of his, eyes glaringly clear and unclouded. 

Fíli’s eyes flicked across his own and at length he said, “I love you. And I will protect you from whatever happens in that mountain. You know that, right?” 

Bofur swallowed, finding he couldn't make a joke out of the situation for the seriousness in Fíli’s face was unwavering but also apprehensive. He nodded instead, curling his fingers in Fíli’s beard, his eyes drifting to his mouth. “I know. And I will do the same.” 

“From anything, Bofur. Even Thorin, Dwalin, whomever. You’re mine; my love, my heart. I will keep you safe. I swear it,” his voice was thick with emotion and meaning, boring deep into Bofur to rattle him from the inside. 

He knew that Fíli meant those words as an oath and that he would follow them to whatever end. It almost frightened Bofur for no one had committed themselves to him so fully, beyond love, beyond fear; yet he was comforted without question and humbled to his core. How could such a noble and courageous and honorable Dwarf ever love him so? It still baffled him. 

The only thing Bofur could do was nod for he had no better words to trump Fíli’s. He wrapped his hand around the back of the prince’s neck and pulled him down to kiss his mouth deeply, the blond reacting in full by pulling Bofur tighter in his arms. They had kissed many times since the Carrock, but even now it still sent shivers down their spines, especially when it meant so much. 

Fíli was insistent on holding Bofur in his arms as they laid down for sleep despite Bofur’s half-hearted protests to hold him instead. Eventually Fíli won by disarming Bofur with that spectacular smile of his, running his hands tauntingly through his hair because he knew Bofur fell for that every time. He kissed the back of the miner’s neck and smiled into it victoriously. 

“You play dirty,” Bofur grumble but his actions belied his words and tone of voice when he pulled Fíli’s arms close to his chest, snuggling back into him. 

Fíli hummed a laugh, nuzzling his nose into soft brown hair. “I’m pretty good at it.” 

Bofur quietly snorted. “I’d say.”

\-------

The next day their hike was much the same and they made good progress. Kíli started falling behind after a quick lunch because he refused to use his crutch any longer despite Tauriel’s recommendations. He kept a straight face, however, and donned his smile every chance he could get, but it was evident that there was a bit of strain behind it. He stubbornly denied he was hurting and deflected any offered assistance, but with second thoughts everyone had to comply, even if Tauriel muttered things about obstinate Dwarves. 

When they made camp for the night, Tauriel looked at his leg and scolded him for tearing open the healing scab, but with a bit of Òin’s trademark salve, there was nothing to worry about. 

“And all of you were biting your nails thinking I went and hurt myself again!” he barked a laugh, looking all too smug like he had pulled one over them. Tauriel looked at him through the corner of her eye in amused exasperation, trying to hide her small smile with her curtain of hair. 

“You did because you started bleeding,” she responded sharply but her tone was teasing, promptly cutting off Kíli’s arrogance quite effectively. Not even Fíli could do that, he noted with a laugh. 

Kíli pretended not to deflate when he said feebly, “Only a little,” then added with more confidence, “Òin’s salve will heal it right up, you’ll see!” 

The four others started chuckling and Kíli’s face turned a little red but he bore it proudly and let Tauriel finish wrapping his leg without mishap. “Try to go light on it tomorrow, alright?” Tauriel said to him quietly, a tenderness behind her voice the other Dwarves couldn’t hear. 

Kíli looked at Tauriel and his haughtiness softened, a smile crinkling his bright eyes. “Aye, I shall do my best, Lady Tauriel.”

The Elf sighed and nearly rolled her eyes. “You needn't call me that.”

“But you are a Lady, and the fairest; a Dwarf owes his respect,” Kíli said smoothly without missing a beat. Tauriel shook her head yet she couldn’t diminish the smile from her coloring face. 

Bofur sat at the fire Fíli was stoking, chewing on a bit of salted fish as he watched the youngest prince and the she-elf banter back and forth, a fond chuckle bubbling in his chest. Fíli glanced up and saw him shaking his head in mirthful disbelief. 

“What’s so funny?” Fíli asked, accepting a stick of kindling from Òin to put into the fire. 

“Just look at them,” Bofur tilted his head toward the odd pair. “Bickering like old friends already. It still amazes me, truthfully.”

Fíli nodded in thought, using a stick to turn the embers, sparks floating up through the column of smoke. “Me also,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Bofur, but he still heard it.

“Does it bother you?” Bofur asked carefully. Òin leaned closer with his trumpet to catch what they were saying.

Fíli shrugged and made a face. “No. Not really. It’s just… I can’t help but think that it’s ill-fated.” 

There wasn’t anything else said on the matter, resigning to eating what they could spare. They had not yet arrived upon Dale yet Tauriel said she could see it in the distance, but to the Dwarves there was nothing to be seen except rolling rocky hills and dried scrub and broken boulders. Continuing to follow the River Running north, it was another day much the same as the one before, walking for hours intently, not much conversation and Tauriel always skipping ahead on her light Elf feet. At dusk they reached Dale and her desolation, an empty ghost city of crumbling walls and cracked mortar. 

Fíli stared at it for a long time, then when his gaze turned to the Mountain and the looming gate of Erebor, he did not move for quite a long while, hand resting on his borrowed sword hilt. Bofur had went to go make his water and when he returned he found him in the same place, still gazing out over a yawning cliff, still as stone. The only thing moving about him was the flicking of his hair and his too-big tunic rippling in the breeze. 

When Bofur sat cross-legged at the fire next to Òin, the healer was looking at the prince also, his brow creased in thought. Before he had to say anything, Òin spoke, “He reminds me of Thorin, in a way. Natural instinct to lead, strong sense of loyalty, fair-minded. Yet so young and unprepared,” Òin said contemplatively, stroking his beard, catching Bofur’s attention. “Once in Erebor, I’m sure he will be a good king someday.” 

Bofur nodded and rubbed his lips together, eyes outlining the silhouette of his figure against the sun-lit mountain, the light fading fast below the horizon. _No, I do not doubt it, either_ , Bofur thought, then looked down to his rough and dirty hands. _But what’s a miner to a king?_ He asked himself, finding he didn’t have an answer to give. 

Then, as if reading his thoughts, Òin reached over and nudged his shoulder to make him look up again. “You two are good together,” he said with a glint in his eyes.“Complimentary, if ya get my meanin’. Two sides of the same coin. I've seen it since Beorn’s and it’s always brought a tickle to my heart,” he chuckled, inadvertently making Bofur blush. 

Then, shrugging, he said conversationally, “Ah, I've never felt the pull to seek another out for myself. A dwarf of my craft, y’see. Busy work. Traveled everywhere in my younger days; to the East, to Gondor, Harad, Eriador, collecting samples, learning all I could. Yet not once had finding a love crossed my mind. Glòin thought I was broken, after he found his One, he thought I should have one too, but I never had the Longing dreams, nothing of the sort, no desire of any kind.” 

Bofur listened half in surprise, half in intrigue, for Òin had never told so much about himself, and Bofur knew close to nothing about the healer. Now, upon the cliff facing the last great kingdom of Dwarves, Òin seemed to second Bofur’s thoughts in that they were truly upon the brink of no return, there would be no going back; that everything would change once stepping inside that kingdom. Perhaps Òin was telling him all this because he realized that too, that maybe they would all be different Dwarves, so the better to lay himself out like a hand of cards before anything was different. 

“Longing dreams?” Bofur inquired, furrowing his brows. 

Luckily, Òin heard him because he didn’t have his trumpet in, so he answered, “Aye, legends say that Dwarrows blessed with Ones dream of them; simple essences, nothing solid, traces of their Maker’s chosen,” Òin answered offhandedly with a shrug and slight grimace. “Well, I have never been burdened with such. But, seeing you two, I think it’s stronger than all that godly nonsense. Ones and Longings, that is. A load of rubbish, I think. No science behind it!” 

Bofur furrowed his brows. No one had ever said that about Ones; everyone always said that the love between two made for each other by Mahal was the strongest bond there would be. It was true, Fíli was not technically Bofur’s One as he also had none to boast, but from what he has heard in the great tales and books, he loved him as much as anyone with Ones did, felt the same way, thought the same, so much so that his heart thrummed even now with thoughts of love for his Fíli. Feeling a little more lighthearted that he was not alone in this, he asked, “What do you mean?” 

Unfortunately, Òin only shrugged and scoffed, however he was still grinning. “You two are special. I know it. The portents I've seen are in your favor.”

Again, Òin and his blasted vagueness. At least he wasn’t as ambiguous as Gandalf. “In our favor? How?” Now he was quite interested. 

Another shrug. “I can’t read them fully without the right equipment, but I have a feeling, and my feelings are always good. We’re here now, right? Har!” he laughed heartily before pointing a thick finger at Bofur. “Don’t you lose him, Bofur. And don’t let your pig head get in the way of things that should be runnin’ proper!” 

A hundred and a half questions grew in his head but he couldn’t pick just one to ask, and if he did, he was sure there would be more. So, he folded his hands in his lap and tried to let his thoughts go. “Okay,” he said in an easy-going voice, ready for what the healer would give him. 

Òin sat and stared at him for a few long moments, regarding him carefully with squinted eyes, and Bofur sat patiently, waiting. Then he burst out in jolly laughter, clutching his stomach, Tauriel, Kíli, and even Fíli’s heads turned to the loud sudden noise, bouncing off every rock and pebble. A hot sinking feeling seeped into Bofur’s stomach, thinking he had been fooled, when Òin nudged his shoulder again. “Still tickles my heart. Ach, Dwarves in love are my favorite sort of stories. I've a soft spot for them,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m glad to see you’re a part of one, laddie,” he winked. 

Bofur looked at the fire, utterly confused at what just transpired. Òin got up to lay out his pallet for sleep, humming joyfully to himself, and Bofur didn’t know where to start thinking first. Since he was knocked out of his reverie, Fíli finally moved from his vigil at the cliff, unstrapping his sword belt and setting it next to him as he sat down next to Bofur quietly. 

A few minutes later, Bofur pulled off his hat and ran his hands through his hair. He looked over at Fíli and gave him an overdone, goofy smile that had the prince smirking. “Hello.”

“Hullo,” Fíli said with hints of confusion, bending his knees up and putting his arms across them. 

“Apparently we’re in a love story,” Bofur said bluntly.

Fíli raised his brows. “Oh?”

“Òin says the portents are in our favor.”

“Alright?”

“And he says he’s got a good feeling.”

Fíli deeply nodded, still unsure what Bofur meant. “That’s good.”

“Aye,” Bofur smiled brightly then. “It’s good. It’s a good thing I like you, otherwise we’d be in trouble.”

A smile had been growing on Fíli’s face but now it broke out, a laugh following it. “Well, I’m glad I like you, too, then.”

Bofur laughed also, taking one of Fíli’s hands and kissing his knuckles. They looked fondly at each other as only two besotted Dwarves could, the light of the fire overpowering the looming shadows of the Mountain and of Dale, and for a while, everything else was forgotten.


End file.
